


Requiem for the Survivor

by The_Idonian



Category: Bastion (Video Game)
Genre: Continuing adventures of Team Bastion, Earn Your Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Forgiveness, Gen, Grief, Redemption, The beauty in tragedy, The cost of grudges, after the end, picking up the pieces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Idonian/pseuds/The_Idonian
Summary: “And if my worst fears are right, the Calamity might be bigger than we realize.Life doesn’t stop after a story ends, after people ride into the sunset. It just means that there’s opportunity for something new to happen.They say a proper story should start at the beginning. But where do we start?”





	1. We Begin At The End

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about redemption, forgiveness, and the cost of grudges.  
It's about picking up the pieces after the world is broken beyond repair, and trying to make something new of it.  
It's about remembering the past, and desperately trying to save the future.  
This is a lament of what has been, and a celebration of what may be.
> 
> To all of my faithful TF2 readers, this story is meant to be enjoyed whether you have experience with the Bastion fandom or not. I’ve written this with you in mind, and I hope that you enjoy it. I still love TF2, but sometimes you have to write the stories you would want to read.  
To Bastion fans, hello! Thank you for stopping by! 
> 
> Have you ever wondered what might happen to our intrepid survivors after the game? After the credits rolled and the characters flew into the sunset? I certainly did. After years of burnout from Sandstorm, I finally felt that itch to write again. And when I saw how few Bastion stories were out there (I loved them all, but it was never enough…), I finally decided to do something about all the ideas that had been building up in the back of my mind. That was May, 2018.  

> 
> This is the first in a three part series, mostly to tie up loose ends left behind by the game. Everything is important, and sets the groundwork for major events in the later works. This part is complete, and will be posted on a regular schedule. To those unfamiliar with my works, there will be footnotes and general explanations of most things in the story. If you ever have questions, post a comment and I’d be happy to chat with you. (Seriously, I love comments.) I want you guys to enjoy this just as much as I did.

Sometimes, the past ain’t good for nothing but history. Trouble is, we’re going to have to go back a long ways to make any sense outta this mess we’re in.

Our story might have started with the Calamity, but the series of events that got us to this point started long before you or I came to be here. It goes all the way back to when our forefathers founded Caelondia, and it hasn’t gotten any better since our war with the Ura.

I don’t expect you to understand all of this yet, but time’s the key. We like to think about time in seconds, minutes, and so on. In this case, try to imagine it like a series of events. They can be as big as a whole childhood, or as small as a split-second decision. Everybody’s got moments like these, and they’re what give us a sense of time moving on.

People like to imagine time as a river, always flowing forward. But the truth is, time acts more like a gas than a liquid. It can expand, and make minutes feel like an eternity. Remember all those boring classes you had to sit through? I bet they felt longer than they actually were. But if time can expand, it can compress too. Time flies when you’re having fun, and sometimes that ain’t just a metaphor. Compress time, and everything seems to go by a little faster.

And if you squeeze anything enough, it’s gonna break.

The Calamity was an Event unlike any other. It wasn’t meant to happen; at least, not in the way we expected it to. The people in charge of Caelondia were trying to be reasonable about it all. Our goal was noble enough: an end to fighting with our subterranean neighbors, the Ura. But somewhere along the line we pushed reason far past where unreason should’ve stopped us. In those days, we did all sorts of things in the name of a greater good.

Like any other weapon of mass destruction, it did its job. Would have worked perfectly, if it wasn’t for one detail. In this case, that detail happened to be a split-second decision by the Uran engineer who designed it, desperate to save his daughter and strike back at the city who forced his hand.

The city’s Mancers thought that they had all of the angles covered, when they made that engineer pick between his daughter and his people. But we all make choices, and some of us even have to live with ‘em.

The weapon blew up in their faces.

The Calamity shredded time and space like a hot knife through butter. It’s all... undone, like two layers of fabric tearing apart. Since then we’ve all come to terms with the physical aspect of the aftermath; what didn’t vanish into thin air was thrown high into the sky in scattered pieces.

The impact on time is where things get interesting. I’ve got a hunch about what happened, and if I’m right, time got shattered into copies. It’s a bit complicated, but I’ll keep it simple. Whenever you make a big decision, it makes two copies of the universe, one for each choice. There could be millions, and we’d never know it. Somewhere out there is a universe where the weapon wasn’t sabotaged. Somewhere out there, things went differently. Must be nice.

And if my worst fears are right, the Calamity might be bigger than we realize.

But life doesn’t stop after a story ends, after people ride into the sunset. It just means that there’s opportunity for something new to happen.

They say a proper story should start at the beginning. But where do we start?

The last story started with a young Mason waking up on what’s left of the Rippling Walls of Caelondia, a desolate rock in a twisted sky. He worked hard, collecting Cores to power the last safe haven of Caelondia, the Bastion. He found others too, and together we worked hard to right what was wrong.

There were a few setbacks, but the story could’ve ended much worse than it did.

Life moves on, so it’s only fair that we start this story at the end of that one. So... this one comes after.

After the young man, known only to his companions as the Kid, came back badly injured and carrying a man on the brink of death. After the Kid made the choice not to go back. So here we are, at the end of a story.

The world’s ended, but maybe a new one could start, here and now.

We begin at the end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author Notes:**
> 
> Inspiration for the series name comes from Dan Forest’s _Requiem for the Living_, a stunning choral work I had the great fortune of singing with my choir. Most requiems are for the dead; this is a prayer for the living, for those left behind. This first part is in homage to the survivors, and the grief and joy that comes from living through tragedy. If you ever get a change to listen to the _Requiem_, take it. 
> 
> Inspiration for this chapter title comes from Gavin Dunne's (aka Miracleofsound) music video, Dream of Goodbye. 
> 
> It brings me great joy to thank Taylorbeth (affectionately called Taylorbeta) for her stunning beta work, idea bouncing, acting as a sounding board, and general putting up with my bullshit. She is a fantastic writer and artist, and without her (often essential) support and advice this story would never have gotten off the ground. Thank you to Taylorbeta for all of our great conversations, and just generally being a good friend. :) 
> 
> Special thanks goes to classillama16 for her fantastic work as a blind reader. She is a passionate and well-spoken literature enthusiast, and made an excellent alpha reader. Thank you for leaving that first comment on one of my stories, and for all that came afterwards. 
> 
> **Next Chapter:**  
_Rucks had to admit, the Kid was as tough as nails._


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we pick up where we left off, and play the hand we're dealt.

Rucks had to admit, the Kid was as tough as nails.

The Kid came down to the control room looking like the wrong side of a pincupine,[1] powering through the pain long enough to make the decision; blow the Bastion’s Cores to smithereens and send them out into the world. Determination like that could drive a man far, but Rucks saw the look in the Kid’s eyes; he was tired beyond words, and it was with a pang of fear that Rucks knew the young man had finally met his limit.

He fell like a puppet that had its strings cut. Hobnail boots scraped on the floor. The metal knee pads and chestplate clanged as he pitched to the side. His iron grip on the controls went last, slowly loosening as he clattered to the floor.

The quiet sound of the Mason’s hand hitting the floor felt far louder to Rucks than it should have. Rucks and Zia hurried over as his dark eyes slid shut.

Rucks leaned heavily on his cane as Zia knelt down and reached for the Kid. “Don’t touch them arrows, girl.”

Zia drew her hand back. When she looked up at him, her pale face drawn with panic. “There’s so many of them!”

The old man lowered himself to the ground slowly, joints popping in protest. “Zia, I need you to run along and get my red bag. And stop by the Distillery. We’ll need Lifewine.”[2] He took another look at the arrows sprouting from the Kid. “And Fetching Fizz.[3] We gotta get those arrowheads out of him.”

Already halfway to the door, she paused. “What about health potions?”

Rucks rolled up the sleeves of his collared shirt, and loosened the red kerchief around his neck. “They’ll do more harm than good right now! Go on! We ain’t got much time.”

As she hurried off Rucks ran a practiced eye over the extent of the damage. Those were Uran arrows, fletched with rattle-tail feathers.[4] His trip to the Tazal Terminals for that last Shard hadn’t been a good one.

Memories stirred in the back of his mind, ugly and fanged. Another man might pray to the gods that the arrows weren’t poisoned. He knew from bitter experience that the gods never gave anything... when they could take instead. He gently placed a hand on the Kid’s dented and scorched breastplate and shut his eyes for a moment, head bowed.

He wished that he could have done something for the Kid. He wished that he could have fought next to the young man, watched his back, made sure that he had more than an old man’s voice in his ear to guide him through the twisted hell that the world had become. Not for the first time, Rucks cursed the twisted mess that time and the war had made of his legs. The Kid shouldn’t have had to do it alone.

After everything the Kid had done to collect the Cores and Shards from the shattered remains of the world, they left the final choice up to him. Evacuate what was left of Caelondia, or use the Bastion to bring the whole world back in time to before the Calamity. He made the choice, and like it or not Rucks had to live with it.

They needed the Bastion, right enough. It was a meeting place for the city in case of emergency, and after the Calamity... one of the few pieces of ground left. It was supposed to fix everything, and now that the Kid decided not to go back, he didn’t know what to do. What was left out there? And why did the Kid do it?

Rucks wasn’t sure what drove the Kid on all those missions out into what was left of the city and beyond, fighting all manner of creatures. He didn’t ask, in case it made the lad change his mind. Kid brought back other things too. Mementos, supplies, and a few survivors-

Zia ran back down the steps, red bag bouncing against her shoulder. “Rucks! Zulf is out there!”

-like Zia and Zulf. Zia was a sweet young lady. Uran born and Caelondian raised, what she lacked in history and her own culture she more than made up for in music. He bet that she could even make the Bronze Bull statue of Pyth[5] cry. Zulf on the other hand…

Rucks raised his head, and the hand not supporting the Kid clenched into a fist. “What does that snake want?”

They all trusted the Uran diplomat, and he turned around and destroyed their stockpile of Cores, damaging the Monument just before they would have had enough power to fix everything. Sure, it might have been after he found out that the Caelondians caused the Calamity when they tried to seal his people underground, but he flew right off the handle. Knowing your life’s work meant nothing in the end is an ugly truth. And then, just as they were picking up the pieces, he sent what was left of the Ura to finish the job. The Kid chased him all the way back to the Tazal Terminals for that last Shard they stole, and this is what they got back.

Zia bit her lip. “He’s just laying there. He looks really hurt too.”

Rucks hesitated. Zulf nearly destroyed the Bastion, but he warned the Kid about the raid and tried to keep Zia safe. He wanted to hate Zulf, but even a snake could have honor. If he wasn’t hurting anyone right now… Rucks felt the Kid’s breathing hitch under his hand. Something had to be done. He made a decision. “Then he can wait. Pass along that Lifewine.”

Zia frowned and opened the red bag, handing over the bottle of rich spirits. “I think that he brought Zulf back with him.” She tucked her dark bangs back into her blue kerchief and fiddled with the bracers on her long coat.

“We’ll worry about that later.” He eased the Kid’s head down, carefully recorked the bottle, and set it aside. Lifewine could bring back any man from the brink for another taste, and with any luck the liquor would dull the pain. It’d be best if the Kid sat this one out.

“Alright. Now, most important thing about arrows is you never pull ‘em out by the shaft.[6] You’ll lose the point that way. With arrowheads, you gotta figure out if it’s gone through bone or not…”

It helped, talking her through the process while he worked. It made it more like a story- the kind where everything works out in the end- and less like a desperate attempt to save the life of a fast friend.

Rucks hoped Zia might never need to use what he was teaching her, but someone else ought to besides him. At the Caelondian Collegia even wounds such as these wouldn’t have been a problem. Now… there weren’t even ruins. Everything had come undone, and the knowledge had gone with it. He may have spent quite a lot of time there as a younger man and learned a thing or two as a fighting man, but he was no surgeon. Just like the Kid, he had limits too.

The pile of arrowheads got higher, and Zia took out her needle and thread.

“Why can’t we use health potions?” Zia asked while Rucks took another swig of the Fetching Fizz.

He slipped his fingers down another arrow shaft into the wound, and felt the strange magnetic pull of the Fetching Fizz drawing on the arrowhead. Caelondian liquors weren’t just good for drinking.

“You ever try one?”

Zia shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips. “They didn’t save my mother when I was born. Father said that they were dangerous.”

The old Mancer nodded in approval. “He was always a sharp one. Health potions are like a slow poison.[7] They can give a man the strength to walk on broken legs, keep him from bleeding to death, speed the healing process. But it ain’t without cost. Take enough of ‘em, and that cost gets too high to pay.” He had seen far too many good men die that way. “Alcohol helps flush the poison outta the system, but sometimes it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Is that why Kid always went to the Distillery as soon as he came back?”

Rucks paused in wrapping a neatly stitched wound. The Kid had spent a lot of time in what was left of the city for one reason or another. While alcohol could make a man forget, the Kid drank to get horizontal. Kid needed his rest, and if it took alcohol to keep him from screaming at night… then who was Rucks to judge? It was a damn shame that someone so young had to shoulder so much pain. His heart ached with sympathy.

“Something like that.” He rubbed at his mustache. “Reminds me of an old Slinger I knew, years ago...”[8]

They conversed in this way for a while, and before long, there was nothing left to do.

“Do you think he’ll be ok?”

Rucks pushed himself back, his knees clicking painfully. Kid’s normally tanned skin was pale as snow and his breathing was shallow. He’d seen injuries like this in his past, and knew that something this bad was tough to come back from. All they could do now was hope.

But in the past months he’d known the Kid, he’d seen things he thought were impossible. The Kid took the worst the Calamity could throw at him, and came out on top every time. He’d make it. He had to.

Otherwise… 

Well, they never would have made it this far without the Kid. Rucks hadn’t put anything into what might come after, not expecting there to be an after to go to, and thinking about doing it without the Kid just seemed all kinds of wrong. Rucks might have to seek forgiveness instead of permission, and use the Bastion to send them all back in time.

Zia wouldn’t like going back, but if that’s what it took to get Kid back, then so be it. There was a chance she wouldn’t even remember any of this. But if she did… she’d come ‘round sooner or later. And with any luck, they could make sure none of this ever happened.

No reason to worry her now, though.

Rucks gave her the biggest smile he could afford. “He’ll be back on his feet in a week, don’t you worry.”

He was rewarded with a small smile, her arms hugged close to her chest. “C’mon, little lady. We’ll need to make him comfortable down here until I can rig something up to get him back to his tent.”

Zia bit her lip, but nodded. She helped him up, and followed him out. Halfway up the stairs to the Monument clearing, he noticed that she was carrying the red medicine bag with her.

“Now Zia-”

“I want to help him.” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were steely with determination.

Rucks swept an arm out to her, incredulous. Anger stirred within. “After everything Zulf’s done? Little Pecker’s dead. We almost lost the Bastion. The Ura think you’re a traitor ‘cause of him.”

“That wasn’t his fault! They wouldn’t listen.”

“Zulf had already told them what they wanted to hear.” His tone was bitter.

“He thought the Bastion was another weapon,” she retorted, gripping the bag strap tightly.

“We already told him it wasn’t.” His voice was steady but strained, like a wire stretched almost to snapping. His hand clenched at his cane.

“After what he read in my father’s journal?” she said, advancing. “My father worked for the Mancers. Zulf spent his entire life helping the Ura and Caelondians understand each other, and the whole time Caelondia was trying to destroy his people. How would he know we weren’t lying?”

Rucks ran a hair through his white hair. He couldn’t deny that she might have a point, but that didn’t keep him from grinding his teeth at the thought of seeing Zulf again. “And what happens if he tries to destroy the Bastion again?”

“We’d stop him.” Her expression was troubled, but her stance was as open and confident as Rucks had ever seen.

“It’d save us having to worry all the time if he wasn’t around.”

Her eyes narrowed as she caught his meaning. He wasn’t proud of something like that, but the old world was gone now. The Bastion meant everything. He’d bet money that as soon as Zulf came back to his senses he’d try something. If the dreadful algebra of survival meant that Zulf had to die to save everyone else… then he’d try to be merciful about it. That was the only kind of mercy left nowadays.

“He brought Zulf back for a reason.”

“He’s the reason the Kid came back like he did.”

“We don’t know what happened out there,” she said levelly, meeting his eyes. “But he came back, and he brought Zulf back with him. Kid made that choice to bring Zulf back. Don’t take that away from him.”

Rucks raised his brows, wondering what had happened to the quiet, meek little musician that the Kid brought back from Prosper Bluff (or what was left of it). The Calamity had changed everything, it seemed. And… they left the final choice of what was to be done with the Bastion to the Kid. He had a good head on his shoulders. Whatever happened out there in the Tazal Terminals, the Kid must’ve had a damn good reason.

Rucks sighed. “Alright. But you best be keeping an eye on him. ”

They found Zulf on the grassy upper level of the Bastion, sprawled facefirst where the Kid had left him.

“Mother on High,”[9] he breathed. His stomach churned. He didn’t know if it was a miracle that Zulf was still alive, or if the gods just really had it out for him. He’d seen corpses that looked less dead, and somehow, he was still breathing. “See if there’s any health tonics in there, will ya Zia? We’re gonna need ‘em.”

“You said those were poison!” she protested as she rifled through the bag.

“Do you want to save him or not?” he snapped. Zia flinched, and he felt a pang of guilt. His expression softened, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Zia. I didn’t mean that.” He leaned over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “One or two won’t hurt him. It’s only when you abuse ‘em like the Kid did that things get dangerous.”

“I wish we knew what happened,” she said, setting out bright aqua bottles next to Zulf.

Rucks held a finger over the cap and shook one. It opened with a hiss. “We’ll just have to ask the Kid when he comes ‘round. Or Zulf, if he’ll give us an answer.”

“I just want him to have a chance,” she said quietly, and Rucks heard a hint of a tremor in her voice. She looked up at him. “Isn’t that what leaving the city is supposed to be about? Everyone should get a chance at a new beginning. And it’s wrong to let him die if I can do something about it.”

Rucks grimaced. Zia still believed in him. It didn’t seem to matter how many bridges he’d burned; she kept extending a hand across the divide. He admired her dedication to her morals and ability to forgive the past, but her shining ideals could get them all into trouble.

The Mother knew he’d done things he’d never forgive himself for, but Rucks had to wonder if a man who had screwed up as badly as Zulf could pick himself up and build a better future. But after what the Kid went through to bring him back… he deserved a chance to try.

Rucks set aside the first tonic bottle, and picked up the next one. “Maybe you have a point, Zia. We could all use a fresh start.” And he’d be ready this time, he mentally added, if the past came back to bite them.

No matter how much you might try to bury the past, it isn’t something you can turn your back on. And like a landmine, it bides its time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Footnotes:**   

> 
> [1]This universe has completely different flora and fauna, and it’s on my “to do” list to make a spotter’s guide. A pincupine would be best comparable to a porcupine, but with larger quills.  

> 
> [2] "Lifewine's so rich, they say it's brought men back from the brink for one last taste."  

> 
> [3] "Fetching Fizz is like a mouthful of nails, but the benefits are worth it."  

> 
> [4] Rattletail: Cross between a T-rex and parrot, with a barbed tail and white feathers. Typically lives underground, and feeds off of Windbag young (also known as Squirts). Adult members of the species stand around 3-ft tall and shoot fireballs when provoked.  

> 
> [5] Pyth: The Wakeful Bull, god of Commotion and Order. A bull who is both patient and temperamental. His likeness adorns the walls of Caelondia, a testament to their love of order.  
_"When the Wakeful Bull is calm, let's all do our part to keep him that way."_  

> 
> [6] I actually did a lot of research about arrow wounds for this one. I recommend looking into Dr. Joseph Howland Bill’s “Notes on Arrow Wounds” for more information.  

> 
> [7] Health Potion Poisoning: A fine example of game mechanics meeting Reality Ensues. Every action has a reaction, and there are always consequences.  

> 
> [8] Slinger Shotte was best known for his informal study on the effects of different types of Caelondian liquors when mixed with health potions, which ended when both toxins decided to set aside their difference in the name of a common enemy. Before the Calamity, some of the roughest bars in the city paid homage to him with a drink called Dead Man’s Shot. It had one hell of a knockback.  

> 
> [9] Micia: The Lorn Mother, goddess of Loss and Longing. She gave away her heart, and bears in its place the Star of Caelondia.  
_"We all are born from the Lorn Mother, and in the end, we all return to her."_
> 
> **Author Notes**
> 
> Further Notes on Health Tonic Poisoning: I hate stories where the hero can brush off death and keep going, no matter the injury. It's cheap. There SHOULD be consequences, there should be time for reality to ensue. Anything less than that is a disservice to the story and the reader's suspension of disbelief. 
> 
> Throughout the game Kid uses health tonics to survive, and while that's a necessary game mechanic and general anti-frustration feature, I felt that it cheapened the depth of his sacrifice when he saved Zulf. He made a hard choice, and you can see how much it costs him. To have him simply drink another tonic and be fine... It felt wrong. 
> 
> That is why I came up with tonic sickness. You can be immortal for a time, but at a price. Everything in this world has a cost, so this should too. And it worked well with explaining the game's liquor mechanic. But beyond that, he _will_ have trauma, as do they all. It's the only sensible option. 
> 
> **Next Chapter:**  
_“And Zena wept bitterly that Acobi would hold him to his word, for the goddess cared not that an oath made in anger would lead to his ruin,”_ said Zulf in a hollow, quiet voice, eyes half closed.


	3. The Honorable Traitor

The first thing that Zulf felt was pain.

Focusing was difficult. He floated among the clouds, eyes wide open. His thoughts felt like catching soap bubbles at sunset. Hundreds of them, bright and soft, popping at the gentlest touch. They floated in the warm breeze, shimmering with color and light. He couldn’t catch them all, and they passed him by.

The pain was there in the same way as the ocean. Waves washed the sand of his mind out to sea. The waves came and went with the tide, their source as distant and implacable as the moon. 

The thought passed him by, and he drifted.

The sea didn’t care about current events; it was deep and cold, like the chilly _wrongness_ that settled deep into his bones. He could almost see the glittering expanse of water, far below the clouds.

Was he dying? He tried to concentrate, tried to remember something of what came before this twilight sky. His thoughts slipped away like sand between his fingers. 

He had thought that death would be peaceful, but there were voices.

_“-gently, now.”_

_“-have to boil these-”_

_“-heh, we’ll make a Mender of you yet.”_

He was haunted by how familiar they sounded. Yet… the memories danced away like sunlight on the sea. 

Was he dying? Trying to remember names was like trying to catch mist. Vague shadows of thoughts passed, like clouds on a cold night. 

He couldn’t remember _what_ came before this quiet, dreamlike twilight. But to some extent, he was grateful for this. Somewhere in his memory there were faint echoes of regret, outrage, and even a sick, empty sense of grief. Somehow it felt right, that he should be dying. It meant that there were no more decisions to make, no more tears to shed.

If he was dead, he would see Eveline again. The memory of her laughing eyes, her golden hair, a voice he’d give anything to hear again… it burned like the last candle on a winter’s night. He would see his love again, in the heart of the stars. 

_“-don’t know if it’s a good idea-”_

_“-easier to watch them both at the same-”_

_“-can’t move the Kid again”_

That was a name, if it could be referred to as such. The Kid. It meant something important. It was an anchor, a net for his thoughts. He grasped onto it with both hands. 

Suddenly, soap bubbles shone like glass, and images, _memories_, flickered in their reflection.

_Cold... Desperation... Betrayal… _

Glass shattered into glittering daggers. 

_...Acceptance..._

Death shouldn’t hurt this much.

_“-stitches-”_

_“-steady now-”_

Was he alive? Pain was a way of knowing that you were still alive. But this… it was too much. He recoiled as if burned, shrinking back into the comforting fog. It was no use; the _wrongness_ lanced deep like a cold wind. 

Glass shards flew. As he fell, the tide rose to meet him. 

He reached one desperate hand up to the fading stars before dark waters claimed him. 

_“Star light, burn bright, Mother grant us sleep tonight…”_

\-------------------------------------------- 

And then there was light.

Light comes in many forms. It can be anything from a sudden blinding spotlight- the kind that welds your retinas to the inside of your skull- to the tiniest of cracks in a cave-in, where faint photons dance a slow waltz with airborne dust. This was the kind that finds the tiniest of cracks in curtain- no matter how carefully positioned- and shines directly on your pillow. It comes far too early, tripping over every object on the floor. If it was a person, it would be the kind that prances around while coffee drinkers on their third cup silently plot murder.

Zulf opened his eyes.

Striped canvas fluttered in the breeze above him. The morning sun streamed mercilessly through the gaps in the tent fabric. Wind chimes tinkled somewhere nearby. In the distance he could hear someone singing badly.

And there, felt more than heard, was a deep _thrum_. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it didn’t need to be. It was the sound of Caelondian technomancy, humming with Core driven power. He never expected to hear that sound again.

Zulf tried to sit up, and pain crackled like chain lightning. He slumped down again, an icy certainty spreading. He _knew _that sound. There was only one place left in the world that could sound like that. Gasping with the effort, he drove himself forward into a hunched sitting position. 

Outside the neatly tied tent flaps, he could see green grass in a large circle. On the other side of the circle, he could just barely make out part of the forge, standing tall in the sunlight. And in the center, battered and scorched on its plinth, sat an array of interlocking, angular metal shells with a disc in the center. It looked like triangular clam shells had opened up to reveal a coin, and the purple crystals set deep within glowed. It was the Monument.

He felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.

He couldn’t be. And yet...

He was on the _Bastion_.

Memories prickled into place like thorns. It was worse than being hungover; at least in those circumstances, you could console yourself with the thought that you must have had fun the previous night. All that Zulf had was an empty, hollow feeling.

He had expected resistance, when he rallied the Ura to destroy the Bastion. He had been beyond furious at Caelondia and its Mancers for the hell they had unleashed on the world. His life’s work as an ambassador, undone in an instant. His beloved Eveline, his friends… ashes in the sky. His homeland, torn asunder and flung into the stars. 

The city he thought he knew... never existed.

And there had sat Rucks, feverishly working to a purpose he spoke little of save that it was supposed to fix everything, and needed a lot of power to do it. They all worked to help him fix the Bastion back then, before Zulf read the engineer’s journal and everything he believed came crashing down. Given what the Mancers had done- had spent _years_ working towards- he had no reason to think that the Bastion was not a weapon to annihilate the rest of his people. He had every right to take action.

Yes, he had expected some resistance. He had _not_ expected the entire task force to be destroyed by the quiet, determined young man they called the Kid- for all he had seen of his combat skills within the city’s remains, it was never against trained fighters- as well as any warrior they sent to stop him.

His eyes burned, but tears refused to fall. His shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.

If he closed his eyes, he could still feel Eveline’s touch on his cheek… 

And he was on the Bastion. Except for scorch marks and the occasional arrow embedded in the masonry, it was as if nothing had happened. His hands trembled under neatly wrapped bandages.

It was starting to dawn on him that if the Bastion was truly a weapon designed to destroy all the Ura, he wouldn’t still be alive. Which meant… 

He was _wrong_. 

His people had died over a threat that never existed.

And of all the places he could have ended up, it was the _Bastion_.

Why was he here? Why was he alive? He could feel the dark tide rising, and started to curl up.

There was a gasp. Zulf raised his head. 

A girl stood in the entrance as if pinned in place, arms wrapped tightly around a silver harp guitar.

Their eyes met. 

_Zia._

Relief crept through the darkness. She was alive. And she looked unharmed, even if the smudges under her eyes were darker than he remembered. They had not spoken since she accepted his invitation to leave the Bastion, for Zulten’s Hollow and the rest of the Ura. He had hoped it would keep her safe, show her what the Mancers had done to her people…

It appeared that the gods had other plans. _Wait… the gods. _He latched onto the thought like a lifeline. They had always provided solace and wisdom in the past. Surely, the gods had a plan. 

“You’re awake!”

Zulf blinked, his train of thought interrupted. Before he could react, Zia skipped across the space and threw her arms around his thin shoulders. Something heavy and angular thumped against his aching ribs. Pain scattered like broken glass, and his vision flickered. He grunted, breathless. 

At the sound Zia pulled away. “Oh, sorry,” she said, clasping the offending instrument in her hands. “Did I hurt you?”

It was all he could do to stare at her blankly. After everything he had done, she was _concerned_ for him? How could she be happy to see him? He was a murderer... a failure. 

A _monster_.

“Zulf?” Her eyes creased in worry at his blank stare, at his silence. Yet he was at a loss for words. What did it matter, how he felt? He didn’t understand.

His throat felt tight. He didn’t know what to say. He barely felt her hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you ok?” 

Zulf would have laughed, if he could remember how to. He didn’t think he would be ok, ever again. There wasn’t anything left to be ok with. The only thing keeping him going right now was the answer that the gods might have for him. There had to be a reason that everything went wrong.

“Um… oh! Maybe your throat hurts? Are you thirsty?” She took a step back, and her smile didn’t so much die as wither away into uneasy concern. His soul somehow found room for an extra pang of guilt. She was trying so hard, and it pained him to see her keep trying to help him. 

Zia deserved what little comfort he could give. He gave her the barest of nods, and she brightened. 

“Ok! Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” Zia left the tent, leaving him blissfully alone. 

Zulf looked down at his hands. Slowly, he clasped them and began to pray.

\---------------------------------------------

Zia took her time in carefully drawing water from the cistern. Even the rain fell differently now, and there was scarcely a cloud in the sky. They couldn’t afford to waste a single drop. The morning sun felt warm on her face, and she tilted her chin for a moment to catch the rays. Despite the circumstances, she felt hopeful.

Especially after the scare Zulf had given them when they relocated him, the fact that he had woken up at all was encouraging. It was a good first step. It had to be. And as soon as the Kid woke up, they could use the Bastion to fly away from this place.

She tried to banish the steady trickle of worry with a deep breath. Rucks said that they were doing the best they could for the Kid, but she felt helpless.

The way Zulf stared scared her. It was as if his soul had died… and his body hadn’t realized it yet. She had expected him to feel bad about what he had done, but that look in his eyes suggested a man who was drowning.

He wouldn’t stay that way, if she could help it. Friends were there to extend a hand, even at rock bottom. She was determined to do everything she could to help Zulf stay afloat.

There was a squeak by her feet. Zia looked down with a warm smile. “Hey, Squirt. Do you want to come see Zulf with me?”

Squirt chittered at her, rubbing his black, comma shaped body against her calf-high boots. She reached out to stroke the orange markings that ran across his smooth head. It was like stroking a salamander, if salamanders could hover on tiny, hummingbird wings. Squirt was a member of the Windbag species, and someday he wouldn’t be this little. For now, he was small enough to chase at the wisps of hair that escaped her kerchief with his flippers.

Zia laughed. “Hey! Cut it out! Ok, we’re going!”

Squirt blinked his bright blue eyes and settled down to hover at ground level. She tucked an errant fold of her _hakama_ back into her boots, and gave the baby Windbag a final pat. Then she straightened and walked back to the tent, Squirt in tow.

The Bastion glowed in the morning light. Various buildings along the edge of the circle stood like points of a crown, casting long shadows against the grass. The Skyway stood like the crown jewel. It glowed with power, waiting to launch passengers into the winds, their courses charted by the stars.

And farther out, nothing, as far as the eye could see. The Bastion floated on thin air, an island in a sea where one step over the edge meant certain death. If there was a bottom to the abyss, it was lost to the clouds far below. Where once grand buildings and sprawling cityscapes stood, not even the stones beneath them remained. Large chunks of landscape hung in the sky farther out, bright greens and cool greys against the blue vista. Blue and gold sparks slowly winked on and off, faint in the sunlight. At night, they sparkled like glow moths.

The windchimes on the tent posts tinkled gently, wind statues swirling in the breeze from their positions on the tent posts. The tent was partitioned inside by a sheet, and Zia ducked into Zulf’s half.

Zulf sat hunched in the same position she left him in. With his head bowed and forearms resting on his knees, he looked like a lost child. He stared at his hands with distant, glassy eyes. Zia felt a resurgence of worry for him. She put on a brave smile and placed the cup on the trunk which served as a rough table. He didn’t even flinch at the noise. Squirt fluttered onto the cot for his grooming ritual and hesitated.

_“And Zena wept bitterly that Acobi would hold him to his word, for the goddess cared not that an oath made in anger would lead to his ruin,”_ said Zulf in a hollow, quiet voice, eyes half closed. [1] [2]

He raised his head a little. “As mine led to all of ours.”

Zia sat down at the foot of the cot hesitantly. He stared dully somewhere in the distance, and she noticed that his while eyes were red, his cheeks were dry.

“I’ve asked the gods for guidance.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “But they won’t answer me.” Zulf turned to look at her as if noticing her for the first time. His eyes burned with desperation and despair.

“What do you do when everything is broken?” Zulf’s voice cracked.

Zia chewed on her bottom lip, at a loss for words. Squirt seemed to catch onto the undercurrent of unease and flitted to her lap. He curled up, and she stroked his tapered blue tail.

She understood, in a way, the feeling of drowning. There were times when music wasn’t enough to muffle the cruel words of classmates, or the harsh whispers when she left the Ura neighborhoods. It got so bad that she had accepted the offer of the young man she thought was her friend, and planned to escape from the city with him. Any Ura within the city after the war ended could never leave, but her friend Ackren’s plan was solid and the risk seemed worth it. 

What hurt even worse than the triumphant look on Ackren’s face when the Marshals were waiting for them at the Rippling Walls, was the desperate look in her father’s eyes as he cut a deal with the city: let her go, and he’d work for the Mancers again. Angry as he had been before she tried to escape, he hugged her like she was the only thing in his world, and told her to hide deep in their home burrow.

She never got to tell him how sorry she was.

After the Calamity she sang under a desolate sky, because she knew that tomorrow might be better, if she could only get there. It was only after the Kid had taken her by the hand and brought her to the Bastion that she finally felt free. 

That tomorrow had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to her. Tomorrow could be a new beginning for Zulf too, if she could help him get there.

And then suddenly, she knew what she needed to say.

“I... think you could do one of two things,” she said. 

His gaze was as piercing as a hot dagger, but she met his eyes. “You could keep going. The Bastion still stands, and you could decide that your promise does as well.” Her eyes narrowed to match his. “I want to help you. But if this is your choice, then we _will_ stop you.”

Zulf flinched. His expression clouded, but he didn’t try to argue. Encouraged, Zia smiled a little and continued. “Or… you could try something new.”

Zia glanced outside. “Everything _is_ broken. And it’ll never be the same again. But maybe... something has to end for something else to begin.” She looked down and started to stroke Squirt’s head gently. “We’re going to leave the city. There has to be something out there, and we’re going to go look for it. You could come with us.” 

Zia reached over and gently placed a hand over one of his. “I want you to come with us.”

Zulf went still, like a frightened animal. He looked away. “Zia...” His voice was small and hesitant. “Why? Why do you want to help me?”

She took her hand away and sat back. “Because I think we all deserve a chance at a fresh start,” Zia said gently. “I’m not saying that you have to choose right now. But my father always said that if you want to fix things, a good place to start is right in front of you. We can’t fix everything, but…” she smiled, and this time her whole face lit up. “Here and now, you could make the choice to fix something.”

Zulf curled his forearms in, silent. After a few moments he looked up, his expression guarded. “And just like that, I’m forgiven?”

Zia frowned, stroking Squirt slowly. “Well, Rucks is still pretty mad.” At the mention of the old Mancer he grimaced. “But…” her expression turned sorrowful.

“What do you remember?”

Zulf hesitated. Then, he took a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped on the exhale.

“Well…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Footnotes:**
> 
> [1] Pronounced “ZEH-na”. Credit goes to a hapless store clerk I met who happened to have a name that fit the Uran naming convention. 
> 
> [2] Acobi: The Chastened Maid, goddess of Oath and Abandon. A maiden bound by shackles of her own design. Her chains represent oaths and promises.  
_"Make a promise, and The Chastened Maid will hold you to it."_
> 
> **Author Notes:**
> 
> **\- **Eveline: (“EH-vuh-LEEN”) Zulf’s fiancée goes unnamed in-game, so my interpretation of his beloved is my own. Eveline means “life”. All of the characters have a Tragic Backstory™, but Zulf takes the cake. Sometimes the gods just want a punching bag. 
> 
> **\- **The Lorn Mother: In the Pantheon mythos, the “Mother” is the wellspring of life and death. From the Mother they are born, and when they die their souls return again to her. She gave away her heart, and bears the Star of Caelondia in its place. 
> 
> **\- **Hakama: The game seems to suggest that the Ura's culture heavily borrows from feudal Japan. I could probably write a whole section on my theories about the characters' outfits (and maybe will someday), but Zia seems to wear a hybrid of Uran and Caelondian styles. Hakama is a pleated, loose, skirt-like style of pants. It's a traditional Japanese style of dress, and also worn in aikido martial arts. Artists typically pair them with sandals, but Zia is wearing them with kimono boots (which are adorable). Everything I've seen indicates that the hakama stays untucked, but she wears hers in a more pantaloon style. Either that's a Caelondian influence, or she's a bit of a rebel. You can say a lot with clothes. 
> 
> **\- **The Pantheon: The gods work like this: strength through suffering. The gods have rules. Those that pray to them may gain their support, but it comes at a price. There's a flip side to every coin. Acobi may grant you resolve in your promise, but you **WILL** follow through on your vow. If you fail, there will be consequences. There is always a trial, always some hardship to overcome. You have to respect the rules laid out by the gods. Ask for their support, and there is a price to pay. And in paying it, you may gain strength through the suffering. Kid certainly paid, and dearly. 
> 
> **\- **Ackren: (“AK-rehn”) The “friend” who sold Zia out to the Marshals was unnamed in-game as well. I found it hard to find a name meaning for this online, but when I came up with it I wanted to pull from the word “acrid”; angry and bitter. 
> 
> For those who are wondering, there will be absolutely NO ships sailing during the course of this story. The characters care very much for each other as friends, and they will remain friends. If you’re looking for romance over adventure, this isn’t the fic for you. 
> 
> **Song Recommendations:**
> 
> Section 1
> 
> \- “Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart” by Chris Cornell _(As mentioned before, I typically look for a certain emotional connection or feel in songs. Even if it doesn't relate to the character, it gets me in the right headspace. I like this one's emphasis on betrayal, which goes well with his theme right now.)_  
\- “Santiago’s Lament” by MiracleofSound _(Poor, poor Zulf… if I could, I would let him be with his beloved in the stars. But the gods have other plans for him.)_
> 
> Section 2
> 
> \- “Dust OST – Melancholy” by NyxTheShield  
\- “Focus” by Brown Bird  

> 
> Section 3
> 
> \- “Sabra Girl” by Nickel Creek _(To some extent this is a theme song for her)_  
\- “Ori and the Blind Forest Orchestral Suite” by Laura Platt  

> 
> **Next Chapter:**
> 
> “This was never about the accursed Shard. This was about revenge, and you used us to get it!”  
“No! This was about protecting my people!”  
“Who _are_ your people!?”  
Zulf stumbled backwards as if struck. “What?” he whispered.  



	4. Song of My People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My weekly choir practices start up on Wednesdays again, so you're getting this chapter a day early. :P

His people were suffering.

When Zulf first left the Bastion, he did so in a fit of rage and betrayal. Where the desecration of a beautiful world had once filled him with despair, his flight now filled him with determination. The Caels had tried and failed to kill his people once; he would see to it that they did not get a second chance. And as he journeyed across the broken landscapes, he gained a new appreciation for the extent of the damage.

The Calamity annihilated Caelondia; years of work undone in a moment of ash and fire. The trackless Wilds beyond the Rippling Walls fared little better. Whole mountains were left marooned on thin air and rivers vanished, leaving wildlife to struggle on ever-shrinking islands.

Compared to everything else, the Tazal Terminals got off as lightly as a lead souffle. The Event wrenched whole chunks of Zulf’s homeland from deep underground, scattering the pieces into the sky like ersatz stars. Bar a few collapses, the burrows survived relatively intact. This meant that the Ura- a people used to the stable warmth and predictability of the underground- were mostly left alive.

It should have been a miracle. They had survived the Calamity when countless others had not. But as food sources grew scarce and the winds blew colder, it seemed less like a blessing and more like a curse. They were closer to the gods than the ground now, just shy of heaven. In the face of their prayers, the Pantheon gods remained silent.

Yet in the midst of an apocalyptic land- _sky_scape and a gruelling struggle to survive, the Ura persisted. Zulf felt a pang of pride in seeing how his people adapted to the aftermath of the Calamity- and a renewed sense of outrage at what the Caels had reduced his people to.

They would survive. They always had. Even in their darkest hour, fifty years ago, when the ink on the surrender agreement was still damp, they fought to survive.

Zulf had fought for his people in the best way he knew how. With every handshake, every speech he made, he had pushed for peace. 

And now… there was nothing left to say.

“Honored! The _Hakushi!_” [1] Next to him, one of the three lieutenants handed a spyglass to the General of the Uran army, such that survived. Zulf shielded a hand against the harsh sunlight and looked as well. 

The sky lay littered with floating islands, a strange constellation of ice and rock, and across a treacherous minefield of ice and masonry- on an island far too close for comfort- a battle was taking place. One determined fighter, reduced to a flash of black clothing and white hair by distance, against sixteen striped and multicolored Uran fighters. As he watched, the figure in black lashed out in a vicious arc and another warrior fell. [2]

Zulf winced as a fighter was dispatched with cold efficiency. He had never wanted it to come to this.

He had come to the Ura with the best of intentions. It was meant to be the final plan, the means to protect them after all other measures had failed: destroy the Monument and leave the Bastion bereft of power sources, and the Caelondian threat would be dealt with for good. He had convinced his desperate and mistrustful people to welcome Zia to Zultan’s Hollow, hoping that she would accept his invitation. 

Then, as a last ditch attempt to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, he sought out Kid in the Wilds. There was no need for him to die defending the Bastion; as far as Zulf was concerned, the simple Mason was innocent of the city’s crimes. They were after that blasted Mancer and his creation. He respected the Kid enough to warn him that if he went back to the Bastion with the last Shard and fought the Ura, that he would die.

Zulf returned to the main Ura force just in time to watch the forces they sent to the Bastion be ruthlessly destroyed. They were forced to retreat, and every task force sent to cover their departure faced the same fate. Nothing they did would stop him. Wherever he went, only the dead remained.

And as the Kid hounded them all the way back to the Terminals, he left widespread destruction behind. Fragments of the stone Conductors they built to hold back the worst of the Calamity lay littered in his wake. Already, the dark crystals that heralded its effects were spreading through the Terminals. 

Survivors fleeing his attacks said that he moved with unholy speed, and that his eyes burned with a cold fire. Even as he watched the Kid’s onslaught from afar, Zulf could remember lazy smiles and a clear, bright laughter that filled the sky. There was no laughter now. Zulf could only watch in horror while the stone-faced, silent young man dismantled the group of warriors entrusted with the Shard.

He heard a hail of gunfire, punchy and hollow at this distance, and the last warrior collapsed. There was a flash of purple as the Kid collected the Shard. 

The lieutenant to his left groaned. “Zakita’s Elites… may the Mother welcome them home,” he said softly.

And then- to Zulf’s dismay- the Kid reloaded his weapons and started across the ice field toward them. Zulf sent up a brief prayer to Lemaign, God of Hope and Despair. [3] If he left with that Shard, the Bastion would destroy them all.

Zulf could feel the eyes of the lesser lieutenants watching him carefully, barely concealing their distaste. The whispers had started shortly after the Kid had begun to amass serious casualties, when the journey back to the Terminals started to feel less like a triumphant victory, and more like a retreat. 

They were all too eager to listen to him, when he first brought news of Caelondia’s failed act of war to his people. Now they listened with resentment, as if he was to blame for all their problems. 

In return, he preached for them to have the patience and strength to triumph over the last of Caelondia’s hatred. It was much easier to imagine the Kid that way, instead of as an old friend. It was shame that the Kid had chosen to follow Rucks so blindly, but as long as the Bastion survived, they were all at risk. They had to stop him at any cost.

General Zadid [4] gestured to the Kid, who had started to make his way across the ice field. “Tell me, Zulf,” a sudden gust of wind ruffled the man’s gold and black _keikogi_, the feathers on his headdress fluttering, “he has taken the girl and the Shard. But still he comes. What more does he want?”

The man turned and gave Zulf a long hard stare, waiting. Zulf fiddled with the starched crease of his collar, meeting the general’s eyes warily.

“He…” Zulf paused and looked off into the distance at the steadily advancing figure. He was lucky that the general was still asking for his opinion after the casualties they had suffered. His breath streamed like smoke in the wind. “To leave. He has the Shard. There is nothing left here for him.”

“A reasonable guess, if he wasn’t heading straight for us. Unless…” The way the man stared at Zulf was starting to make him nervous. “Go talk to him.”

His eyes widened. “What? Me?” Zulf looked out to the figure crossing the ice again. It was starting to creep over him that there was one more thing the Kid could be looking for, and the answer terrified him.

Their leader’s expression- such as could be seen beneath his face mask- was impassive, his eyes cold. “You are the diplomat,” he replied tersely. “And the _Hakushi_ is clearly not finished. If he is here to kill us all, then at least you will have tried. Go find out what the Cael wants. If he is here for you, it solves two problems. Prove how loyal to us you are.”

All rational thought scattered to the winds at the prospect of facing down an angry Kid. “Are you mad?! I-I can’t! He’ll kill me!”

The general took another step towards Zulf. “You would prefer he kills us instead?” he hissed, pointing a finger. “Do our deaths mean nothing to you? Coward!”

“He won’t listen to me!” Zulf held his hands to shield himself from the general’s rage. “We can’t let-”

“That wasn’t a request.” The lieutenants were drawing nearer, their expressions grim. Zadid’s eyes narrowed. “I am beginning to lose faith in your intentions,” he said coldly.

Shock warred with outrage at what their leader was implying. “The Caels had to be stopped,” he snapped.

“Yes, you have told us this, among many other things.” The general’s voice was as hard and sharp as an arrowhead. “And our reward for listening is bloodshed and suffering. You have much to answer for.”

“I told you the truth.” Zulf brandishing the black journal that had ruined his life. “I showed you their treachery-”

“And led him right to us.” Zadid cut him off sharply. “You were missing for some time before the raid. Where were you?” he demanded.

The helpful memory of his hurried warning to the Kid flashed across his memory. “I… I was praying.”

Their leader appeared unconvinced. “I see. Then the girl must have told him where we were.” He started to turn to one of his underlings, and fear for Zia overtook Zulf’s anger. “She knew nothing. Leave her out of this!” He snapped, sweeping his hand out in a sharp gesture of dismissal. “This was about the Shard.”

“This was never about the accursed Shard. This was about revenge, and you used us to get it!”

“No! This was about protecting my people!”

“Who _are_ your people!?”

Zulf stumbled backwards as if struck. “What?” he whispered. 

“You spent years in that city.” The general’s tone was flat and matter of fact. “How long ago did you betray us?” 

The lieutenants watched dispassionately, hands placed nonchalantly over their weapons as he gaped at their leader. “Never,” Zulf said shakily. This couldn’t be happening. “Never! How can you say that? I devoted my entire life to _peace!_” The last word was a shout, emotion choking his voice.

“Then you have failed.” The general said curtly, turning away from Zulf.

Zulf stared at him in disbelief. He felt sick. The Calamity hadn’t stopped with the ground; everything he stood for, everything he held onto, all of it was falling apart. There was nothing left. After everything he had fought for, everything he had lost… the general had no right… 

“Your plan almost worked. You gave them an excuse to kill us.” The general turned to look at him again, eyes narrowed. “The Caels in the Bastion want us dead so badly that we missed the one right in front of us.”

“Please-” Zulf never saw the blow coming. He crumpled onto the hard packed snow, stunned. A boot slammed into his throat and pinned him down.

“Trusting you was a mistake. You have betrayed your people in the name of the enemy. Our blood is on your hands. Zulf of the Ura- no, Zulf of _Caelondia_,” he spat in Zulf’s face, “you are cast out.”

The others closed in.

Zulf threw up an arm to defend himself, and felt a sickening _crack_ when a halberd smashed into it. A vicious kick to his side knocked the wind out of him. 

Time started to be measured in breaths. 

He began to curl up and a crossbow bolt struck him, rolling him over facefirst.

Another breath.

Another blow, this time to his ribs. And again. Then everywhere, again and again until he couldn’t count the strikes.

They were yelling, but he couldn’t make out the words. 

Inhale, exhale.

He tried to cover his head with his hands. Blood poured from between clenched fingers.

A desperate gasp.

He felt so cold.

So this was how it ended. Betrayed by the Caels, and cast out by the Ura. A traitor to both sides in a world gone mad. 

It was a relief to know that he no longer had to fix it.

\------------------------------------

“And… now I’m here.” His voice cracked on the last word. A solitary tear trailed down his cheek.

A heavy, contemplative silence fell between the two expatriates. The tinkling of the chimes was muted, as if the outside world was hesitant to intrude. She could almost feel the cold of the snow, taste the blood in her mouth. Zia rubbed at her arms, her heart heavy.

Zulf had gone back to looking down at his hands, the glass of water forgotten. While the man had talked softly of their homeland it seemed to Zia that he grew smaller, withdrawn into his personal hell. He spoke as if he were in a confessional, his head bowed and his hands clasped.

When she first met him, he had held himself with the poise and grace of one greeting a queen. He bowed and kissed her hand in proper Caelondian fashion, eyes sparkling with the genuine pleasure at seeing another Uran from the city, at seeing another survivor. He carried himself with dignity, and focused all his efforts on searching the skies for the next Core.

Now, he just looked tired. Three days in bed had done nothing to ease the dark bruises under his eyes. They contrasted with the riot of yellow and purple that had turned his pale skin into a badly made abstract painting. He raised his head and glanced out at the Monument.

Zulf cleared his throat and focused back on Zia. “I see that the Bastion is… functional.” 

Zia tried to banish the sudden knot of anxiety. A comment like that had all sorts of warning signs attached to it. Either it was honest interest, or he was trying to figure out what to break next. She hoped it was a sign he wanted to make amends for the past. She made a promise to Rucks to keep the Bastion safe, but forgiveness had to start with some kind of trust. 

Zia had to give him a chance. He deserved that much. 

Zia nodded. “Rucks says there are a few cracks he still wants to patch, but the Shard helped fix most of the damage.”

The lines on his face looked carved in stone. “A lot of people died because of that Shard.”

“I know.” Zia shared a guilty look with him. She was glad that they could fix the Bastion, but after seeing the heavy price her people had paid, that happiness was tainted with shame. “I tried to convince them to help us,” she said, memories of cold winds and colder eyes biting deep. “They… I don’t know what would have happened, if the Kid hadn’t found me.”

“I think I can guess.” Zulf’s tone was bitter. “Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that he was so… persistent,” he finished carefully, looking away.

“Everyone at Zultan’s Hollow was really angry. I didn’t know what to do.” Zia brightened a little. “But it’s been a lot better since he brought me back to the Bastion. I’m glad that he brought you back too.”

That got his attention. He straightened, a hand going to his side at the sudden movement. “He did?”

“Yeah.” Zia bit her lip at his reaction. “We found you next to the Monument, after he came back.”

Zulf looked dumbfounded. Then, he covered his eyes with a hand. “He wouldn’t stop.” Zulf gave a chuckle that had nothing to do with mirth. “I thought that he was coming to kill me.” The chuckle spilled over into a quiet, bitter laughter. After a minute, he sobered. “None of this makes sense.” Zulf dragged the hand down his face, cupping it under his chin. His eyes were red rimmed and hollow. “I mean, why? He had every reason to hold a grudge against me. Why would he help me? He didn’t owe me anything. ”

Squirt flitted over to his lap and pushed his head against Zulf’s hand. Zulf looked down, surprised for a moment, and started to run his fingertips across the baby Windbag’s head. Squirt squeaked in response, shut his eyes, and settled in. Zia made a mental note to feed him extra tonight.

“Maybe he thought he did.” Zia gave him a small smile. “You warned him that the Ura were coming. And you tried to help me. I think that’s worth something.”

Zulf was pensive. “I suppose so. Could I speak with him? I would like to thank him, at the very least.”

Zia started to fiddle with a wrinkle in the blanket. She knew that this would come up sooner or later, and it didn’t make it any easier to talk about. It wasn’t really Zulf’s fault, but… he might think it was. He seemed to finally be waking up from the shock of the Terminals, and she was afraid of losing all the progress she had made.

“Um… not really,” she said slowly, trying to stall.

Zulf closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. He exhaled slowly, then looked upwards towards the heavens. “Is he…?” he trailed off, unwilling to continue.

Zia frowned. “No. But….” she hesitated, hands knotted in the fabric. 

“What’s wrong, Zia?” Zulf held his hands out to her, beseeching. “Please, tell me.”

Her resolve cracked. “He’s... I don't know what to do!” It was like a dam bursting. Zia told him what happened, staying as far away from the details as she could. Zulf sat and listened, occasionally rubbing at the splint on his forearm.

“It seems I have to thank you as well,” Zulf said after she had finished. “And Rucks,” he added almost as an afterthought, his expression clouding. “Can I see him? Kid, I mean.”

Zia frowned as she stood. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?”

“Seeing you hurt twice was enough,” she replied

Zulf cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, twice?”

“We had trouble moving you,” she said shortly. “It was scary.”

“Ah. I see,” he said, not really seeing but unwilling to upset her further. “I’ll be careful,” he assured her. His expression turned solemn. “Zia, I need to see that he’s alive. Please. It’s my fault that all this happened.”

Zia was still skeptical of his abilities, but his conviction was encouraging. “Are you going to be ok standing up?”

“I’m willing to make an attempt.” He gently shifted the sleeping Squirt onto the blanket.

“Oh! Wait! Um,” she fidgeted. “You’re not…”

“What?” Zulf’s torso was covered in bandages, but as he shifted the blankets his expression changed. “Oh.” Zulf started to blush.

“Rucks mostly did that part.” Like an infectious disease, the blush spread to her as well. “Um. Let me just-” Zia dove under the cot and scrabbled in the boxes and bags stored underneath. She pulled out a bundle and thrust it towards Zulf. “Here. Um, it’s-” 

He was already holding up the tattered long jacket, the blues and golds on the sleeves stained brown. The white collared shirt and blue vest he wore underneath had been cut into several pieces; the other articles fared no better. Zulf ran a hand over a splash of dried blood on one of the coat lapels, his expression grim. “I-I’m sorry. We had to- there were a lot of arrows…” Zia faltered.

“I understand.” Zulf took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you, Zia. If you could turn around, please?”

Zia whirled. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of fabric rustling, and uneven, rapid breaths. The cot creaked, and she heard the breathing become ragged gasps.

“Do you need help?” she stared nervously at the tent wall in front of her.

“No-” she heard a shuddering breath, “-you can turn around now.”

Zulf stood by the edge of the cot, breathing heavily. One hand gripped the chest edge with white knuckles. Zia noted with relief that he had wrapped himself in the jacket, the black and white striped hem reaching to his knees.

“Shall we?” Zulf extended an arm as if they were just going for a stroll.

Zia hurried to support him. “Just be careful, ok?”

Zulf moved stiffly, leaning heavily on her with gritted teeth. As they crossed the space Zia found herself wondering where he had gained the drive to push himself like this. Barely an hour before, he looked as if the world had ended. Maybe- she could scarcely hope- a new one was beginning for him.

Zia pulled the curtain aside and felt Zulf stiffen. 

The Kid lay underneath the blankets, far too still for comfort. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was alive. What little skin was visible in between the bandages was flushed with fever, and his bleach blond hair was soaked with sweat.

“And he came back like this?” his voice was hushed. He leaned on the chair for support and sketched a sign in the air to Jevel, God of Health and Atrophy. [5]

Words failed her. Zia nodded, and picked up the cloth draped across the Kid’s forehead. She dipped it in the bowl of water next to the cot. “He was out of audio range at the Terminals, so we don’t know much.” She wrung out the cloth and carefully laid it back on his forehead. It took all of her lessons in singing to keep her voice steady. “But we do know that some of the arrows were poisoned.”

“Have you tried _salix_?” There was a desperate edge to his voice, and she spared a worried glance at him.

Zia picked up the cloth placed over the Kid’s eyes. “That’s all we have right now. We still can’t use health potions on him.” She sighed and twisted the fabric between fretful fingers. “It’s been really hard keeping his fever down. Rucks and I are trying, but there’s so much to do. Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know where to start.”

Zia rested a hand on the Kid’s chest, fear gnawing a pit into her own. 

“Right in front of you.” 

Zia blinked. “What? 

Zulf’s eyes never left the Kid. But he pushed himself upright, his jaw tightening as he did so. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“Uh...wait. I only meant-”

“Then it sounds like you need a spare pair of hands.” Zulf took the cloth from her. “The sooner his fever breaks, the better.”

Zia was taken aback. “Wait, um, b-but you’re hurt!” she protested, spluttering.

“All the more reason for me to sit here and watch over him.” Zulf said firmly. He wet the cloth and wrung it out. “I need to something useful to do, and you need one less thing to worry about.”

“I…guess. You shouldn’t have to-” All she could think was that Rucks wasn’t going to like this _at all… _

“Zia,” he interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. “Everything I’ve done,” Zulf gestured a hand at the tent exit and the Monument beyond. “None of it’s going to go away. And here is something that I can do, right in front of me. I owe it to him.”

“And besides,” his mouth quirked into something like grim amusement at her expression. “Maybe this time I can do something right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Footnotes:**
> 
> [1] Lit: "White Death" (Japanese). Originally I named him "Shiroi Akuma" for White Demon, but after stumbling onto Finnish sniper Simo Hayha, I loved his nickname so much I wanted to honor it here. Also the name of professional Japanese wrestler Jinsei Shinzaki. 
> 
> [2] And then fell a lot further, but by then it was a moot point. 
> 
> [3] Lemaign: The Mason King, god of Hope and Despair. Before battle, soldiers would pray to him for high morale.  
_"The Mason King knows that success and failure are all in the mind."_
> 
> [4] Pronounced "Zah-DEED" 
> 
> [5] A curious god whose face is half that of a youth, and half that of an old man. In him is reflected a man's prime and twilight.  
_"We each have the Tower Keeper's strength in us, until the day that strength runs out."_
> 
> **Author Notes:**
> 
> \- Ladies, Gents, and Captains (for my fluid peeps out there), welcome to the magic of perspective. We’re seeing Kid as the “bad guy” because from the Uran perspective… he is. Kid is a good guy in a bad situation- they all are. They ALL believe that they are doing what is best, what must be done. And that is true of any conflict; both sides think that they're right. Zulf just happens to be a spectacularly tragic example of that. 
> 
> \- The black journal: this is a call out to the black hidebound journal once owned by Zia’s father. He wrote all the secrets of the Calamity in that journal, and it’s the only surviving proof that Caelondia was secretly plotting genocide against the Urans. Zulf is the only character able to read the Uran script it’s written in, and the revelation shatters everything he’d ever thought was true. It was a bad day for everyone. 
> 
> \- Halberds: You really don’t want to be on the business end of one. As side note, I’m rather fond of his No Holds Barred Beatdown. And the killing insult that came before it... it was so _satisfying_
> 
> \- Ah, Zia. My little therapist, off to save the world. In all honesty I do rely on her a lot to be the level headed one for most of this arc. She comes from that part of me that wants to help everyone. But she does have limits, and we're going to hit them sooner or later. 
> 
> \- Squirt’s food: Taylorbeta caught me flat-footed on this one by asking what it was he actually ate. (I was hoping no one would ask, because at the time I had no idea myself.) Given that the last evolution of a Windbag, the Scumbag, eats everything, I'm leaning towards Squirts eating everything too. This one would probably eat table scraps. 
> 
> \- Zulf’s Clothes: Out of all the characters, Zulf's outfit is the strangest. Most of the styles pull from feudal Japan: The long coat in similar in style to an _Uwagi_, tied at the waist with a brown belt _(Obi)_, with a flared hem. It has large lapels like Rucks's vest (a Cael fashion), and all sorts of striped patterns as seems to be indicative of Uran fashions. I'd imagine that the item is a cross between the two cultures. (As a side note, you'd be amazed at the subtle hints that Rucks's outfit has about his past.) 
> 
> \- Salix: This is the genus name for willow trees, whose bark has been traditionally used against fevers. I’m going to use it as medicine here. Interesting side note: when burned, willow smells like poop. 
> 
> \- A note on Zulf: None of them are new to grief at this point. He's had quite a few knocks to his worldview, but that actually ties well into what he's doing right now. The mind tends to keep busy in order to Not Think About It. Essentially what he's doing is shoving a lot of emotions and stress to the back and kind of locking everything away so that he can function. Sometimes you just have to shut down, get stuff done, and freak out later.  
It's not healthy by any means for long term coping. And yes, it's definitely going to cause issues in the future. 
> 
> **Song Recommendations:**
> 
> Section 1  
\- “It Was Once Home” by Iñigo del Valle  
\- “Focus” by Brown Bird  
\- “Mad World” by Gary Jules  

> 
> Section 2  
\- “Bother” by Stone Sour  
\- "Hey Mister" by Poor Man's Poison  
\- “Meant to Live” by Switchfoot  

> 
> **Next Chapter:**
> 
> _"All I’m sayin’ is that it don’t take much to make a man sorry when he’s had seven kinds of shi- stuff kicked out of him.”_


	5. It'll Be Alright

With every crater, there is an edge. 

This one faced an incredible expanse. The other side was nearly impossible to see in broad daylight, even with a telescope. Trees leaned precariously over the precipice, soil and rock crumbling away. Occasionally one would drop, becoming smaller and smaller until it was lost in the darkness. The sides of the bowl sloped so steeply that even hardened rock climbers would hesitate to scale them. [1]

Unlike most edges, this one didn’t stay put.

The ground shivered. The leaves on the trees shook in response. Sometimes, with a great earth-shattering force, whole sections collapsed into the void like icebergs calving off of a glacier. The fresh stone would soon become riddled with rough, dark crystals. Massive, drifting islands of bedrock creaked and groaned in the sky, trailing blue and gold sparks as they were consumed. 

Piece by piece, the landscape was tearing itself apart.

A coonowl drifted silently over the mountain peak. The fingernail of a crescent moon glimmered weakly over its head, and insects chirped in the undergrowth down below. The coonowl glided over the treetops and landed on the edge of a clearing farther down the mountain. [2]

The forest edge gave way to steep grassy slopes, where a barn and a farmstead sat amidst the pastures. The coonowl blinked its mask-patterned eyes, the feathered tufts on its head fluttering gently. The bird flicked its ringed tail and leapt off of the branch, gliding towards the pastures.

The large farmhouse was quiet, its occupants fast asleep. The pygmies inside the barn bleated nervously to each other, the bells hanging around their necks _tonk_-ing as they shifted. The coonowl passed overhead like a wraith, looking for scritters.

The people who lived here had never seen Caelondia. The way to the vaunted city lay to the southeast, across the mountains. Caelondia was merely the source of their spices and the occasional missionary. The family who lived on the farm hadn’t noticed the effects of the Calamity. They had been busy living their lives, working on the farm and trading over at the little village nearby. If the missionaries had stopped coming, who cared? They had no reason to trek over the mountain and see the destruction beyond. 

The mountain was large, and its bedrock extended deep into the earth. It had shielded the homestead from the worst of the earthquakes, but now it was in trouble. As the edge advanced the foundation was being ripped away. With every rock that pulled free, the pressure was building. Had the residents been told of what was happening, they might have dismissed it as a fantasy.

All in all, the people who lived here were hard working and unimaginative, and really should have returned from the market a day later. 

The coonowl’s gaze focused on a patch of grass. Suddenly, it dove towards the ground. There was a brief, high pitched squeak in the darkness, suddenly cut off. The bird spread its wings again, and flew with its catch to a nearby tree. Bones crunched.

The night air was still. The stars glinted in the midnight sky, and fireflies mingled with sparks in the darkness. But then, the leaves on the trees started rustling. The coonowl warbled in surprise and took to the air as the whole tree began to shake. A deep rumble resounded across the slopes. The coonowl flapped to gain height away from the suddenly treacherous ground.

High in the air, it saw what no man could.

The forest rose and fell like a wave, treetops snapping with deafening _cracks_ as the land heaved. The mountain- which had withstood the effects of the edge for so long- was groaning. Turf buckled and ripped to reveal the fissure’s gaping mouth. The land tore in half like a piece of wet paper.

As it soared peacefully on the sudden updraft, the coonowl might have heard something like screams against the roar. The mountain was moving, out and away from the widening chasm. Rock fountained into the air, trailing faint blue lights.

Sometime later, when the dust had settled and the world had gone silent again, the coonowl landed next to the new edge. It glanced around its surroundings before it began to preen its dark grey feathers. There was a crumble of falling bricks, and the remaining wall of the farmhouse on creaked ominously under its weight. 

Off in the distance, the remains of the mountain disappeared into the night.

Only the sparks of the cataclysm remained.

\--------------------------- 

“Alright, let me ask you this.” There was a _clunk_ as Rucks hammered at something inside the control panel. “What makes you think anything’s changed?”

Zia picked at the buttons on her coat, thinking. She sat on a crate in the deepest part of the Bastion, watching Rucks- or at least, his boots- as he worked on something within the wall. She liked it down here. The hum of the machinery had become a reassuring staple of life on the Bastion, and the cool jade green glow of crystals set into the walls reminded her of the glow beetles that used to light her home den.

Rucks had been spending a lot of time down here since Kid came back, and even more now that Zulf was awake. Zia didn’t know what he was working on, but it was nice to be able to come down and spend a little time with him when it was Zulf’s turn to watch over Kid. And if she could try to mend a few bridges between the two along the way, all the better.

“I can tell,” she replied simply. Zia stared at the gear pattern on the hem of Rucks’s long Mancer’s skirt. [3] “He’s… we talked about a lot of things. He told me he’s sorry.”

Rucks snorted. “Yeah, he’s good with words. Can you pass me a size twelve Tomlon driver? Third drawer, yellow handle.”

“No, he’s different now!” she rummaged in the toolbox. “You’d know that if you went to see him.”

His chuckle sounded harsh in the metal cavity. “Oh, I’ve seen Zulf.”

“You know what I mean,” Zia chided gently. She passed the driver through the panel opening. The golden light of his refraction torch spilled out of the gap. “When he’s awake.”

“Thanks, dear. I know, I know.” Rucks gave a “hah” of satisfaction, and she heard a scraping sound. “Devious little thing. All I’m sayin’ is that it don’t take much to make a man sorry when he’s had seven kinds of shi- stuff kicked out of him.”

Zia pulled off her kerchief, and started to unwind her hair from its braid. “He wants to fix things. Zulf says he owes it to the Kid.”

“So long as he stops breaking things too,” was his retort. She felt a pang of disappointment; this was going to be harder than she thought. But she couldn’t give up. The conversation lapsed for a minute, and she fiddled with her hair while she thought about how to approach the topic again.

Rucks sighed. “Zia, I can respect that you want to see the best in Zulf, but I don’t think me talkin’ to him is going to help right now. Sorry or not, he almost killed all of us more than once. It’ll take a while ‘fore I can see eye to eye with him. I’ll try, alright?”

“It’s a good start.” Zia teased the hair straight, and started to form braids. “He’s always kept his word in the past. If he’s willing to try and you’re willing to try, maybe we can get somewhere.”

Rucks chuckled. “Ah, listen to yourself. If you get any wiser, you’re going to turn as old than me.” They laughed together. “Mind giving me a hand with this part? I need you to hold onto this casing while I get the jockey bearing into place.”

Zia dropped the half-finished braid with a good natured eye roll. “What are you working on?” She hopped off of her perch and reached a hand inside to hold up the piece of machinery. It hummed under her grasp.

“This here is what makes the Bastion stand up to the Calamity. Shards have the power to hold onto memories, same as the Cores,” he said. “They pin ‘when’ and ‘where’ together like two fabrics, and this channels that power to hold the Bastion together. ”

“Like the Conductors the Ura used?” The strange glowing statues had been placed foursquare strategically throughout the Tazal Terminals. When she asked the Uran warriors entrusted to guard them what they were, they told her it was to save what was left of their home. It was a comforting thought, even if the Conductors themselves creeped her out. The part above the crystal-studded pedestal reminded her of a bullet-helmeted head rammed onto a pike, and the chains of the guy-lines sounded eerie in the dark, windy nights.

Rucks harrumphed. “Those only had the power to slow the Calamity down. Shoddy work. This baby,” he reached a hand out to pat the console, “is a perfect null system. At least, it was before Zulf’s people did a number on it.” Rucks grumbled. She heard the clicking of a ratchet from within. “That should hold it, thanks. The Bastion was real sick before the Kid came back with that last Shard. The Calamity was worming its way in all over the place before that.”

“But you can fix it, right? We’ll be able to leave?” Zia tugged at her half finished braids with one hand, wringing the strands around her fingers.

The thought of floating in the same patch of sky forever- on one tiny island of land the size of a city block- sent chills down Zia’s spine. All she had ever wanted to do was leave the city. She couldn’t bear the thought of being a prisoner of the last piece of Caelondia, long after the rest of the city had crumbled away.

Zia couldn’t see his smile, but it carried in his voice. “Ah, don’t you worry now. I know every inch of her, and she’s patching up just fine. This old girl will make it through.” 

The bright light snapped off, and he started shuffling his way out of the narrow space in the sudden gloom. “I think that’ll do it for now. How about we start dinner? I think I saw some vineapples in the garden that were ready for chowder.”

Zia smiled as she helped him up. Together, they maneuvered the panel back into place. “I end up doing all of the work!”

“Yeah, just hold it like that.” He grinned while he screwed the bolts back in. “Now, that’s not true. Someone has to keep you from adding enough spice to make a man breathe fire.”

Zia snickered. “Oh, just a minute,” Rucks said as he reached down to the floor by the panel and picked up a mug. “Can’t leave these lying around.”

She leaned over to look inside, curious. Stuffed inside the mug was a leather glove, acting as a lining. Nestled within the folds were jagged brown lumps of crystal. Zia reached out to pick one up, mystified. 

“Careful now,” he said as he tucked his mallet into his Sam Browne belt. “Made my whole arm tingle when I touched one.”

“What are they?” They looked like dark, jagged teeth, the kind owned by a beast that would make Caelondian settlers of the untamed Wilds reach for their muskets and pikes in the depths of night. If they belonged to a creature, it was one that could swallow an Anklegator whole.

Rucks twirled his mustache. “I can’t rightly say. At first I thought the Ura planted it in one of their holes during the attack. But I’ve been finding them in places they ain’t never got to. ” 

Zia was still perplexed. “Why the glove?”

“It ain’t eating through the leather half as fast as stone or steel,” he replied. “Maybe even parts of living things remember what they once were. Whatever these things are, they’re bad news.”

The crystals glinted sickly in the green glow of the wall lights. With her outstretched fingertips hovering over the surface, she felt the air fizzle in between. Whereas the Cores and Shards had emanated warm light and a soft hum, these radiated an aura of menace. Zia pulled her hand back, unsettled. There was nothing natural about them.

“Then it’s a good thing you took them out.” She hefted up his toolbox and started walking towards the stairs. “It’ll be nice to leave the city. Do you think we’ll find the Motherland out there?”

In having already turned toward the stairs, Zia missed the flash of unspeakable grief that crossed Rucks’s eyes. For a moment he looked ancient, hunched over his cane and lost in the green-lit gloom. Faced with the prospect of leaving the city he loved and living with the Calamity, he looked very scared and alone. 

At his hesitation Zia turned around, and a tired smile snapped into place. “Who knows what’s left out there?” Rucks said. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Right now I’m just waiting on the Kid to wake up. It’d feel wrong to start looking without him. He has just as much right as any of us to be there.”

Zia thought of Zulf sitting vigil by Kid’s side upstairs and felt a surge of hope. She flashed Rucks a confident smile. “He’ll be ok.”

Rucks looked down at the tile patterns on the floor, somber. “I really hope so, Zia. We’ll just have to see.”

“He’ll get better. I can feel it.” Zia quirked a mischievous grin at him. “Hey slowpoke, are you coming? I think I saw some mushrooms growing by the Armory that might be good with dinner.”

Rucks shook his head and chuckled. “Oh no you don’t. I’m coming, I’m coming.” He followed her up the stairs. “Just let me chuck these Calamity Crystals over the side first. With any luck, this’ll be the last of ‘em.”

\-------------------------- 

Even the rain was different now. 

The best way to describe how it fell was like a checkerboard: in patches. In some sections the air was rain free, dry columns stretching from the grassy surface of the Bastion to the sky. In the others, icy cold rain pattered from the heavens in what- until now- Rucks would have considered a normal fashion. The two were sharply divided by curtains of water, where rain fell with the force of a waterfall. 

Rucks braced himself as he crossed another icy divide, hand held up against his forehead in a mostly useless effort to keep from being blinded by the downpour. So far the cistern had caught quite a few deluges, but he had a few ideas kicking around for when they weren’t so lucky. 

Despite the weather, his broad smile wouldn’t be budged. It wasn’t machinery that had him feeling hopeful this time. It was the Kid. He had just been getting to grips with recalibrating the Zinn stabilizers when Zia had burst into the room with the news that the savior of the Bastion was finally awake.

The Monument’s soft purple glow in the rain was a comforting sight. The Bastion was as good as new, all thanks to the Kid. He couldn’t understand why the Kid had worked so hard to fix the Bastion- fix _everything-_ just to throw it all away. They could have gone back in time, fixed everything… it just didn’t make sense not to go back. But they wouldn’t have a Bastion without the Kid, and they left the decision up to him. 

Rucks hadn’t expected that it would be today, but he hoped that someday soon he’d get some answers. He ducked under the canvas awning outside the tent and pulled the door flap aside. Warm lantern light and voices greeted him. 

“-and then Rucks said that we could add a crows nest to the Skyway so we could see farther!”

“Talkin’ about me, eh?” His expression was warm as he ducked inside.

Zia’s face lit up, and she jumped up to greet him. “Hey Rucks! I was telling him about all of your good ideas.”

The memory came back ruefully. Oh yeah, those good ideas. They had talked about what they wanted to do after they set sail one night, when Kid’s fever kept on climbing and Zulf was still unconscious. He had wanted to keep her spirits up, give her something to smile about. And if the worst had happened on his watch… then he could turn everything back before she found out, and her last memory of this world would have been a hopeful one. 

But now it looked like he would have to follow through on those promises.

“That so?” Rucks chuckled. “Why don’t we leave some of that until later? He looks pretty tuckered out for someone who’s been sleepin’ for a week.”

As he spoke he edged his way around Zia into the crowded tent. The air was spicy with the scent of _salix_, and the sounds of the storm were muted. And in the middle of it all was the Kid, blinking drowsily in the light.

The young Mason had seen better days— they _all_ had, but Rucks would argue that none held a candle to what the Kid had gone through. It was unsettling to see him so still; for the entire time he had known the Kid, he had always been moving. He looked like he’d had some serious stuffing knocked out of him, but it gave Rucks no small measure of relief seeing the Kid alive, if not yet kicking. 

That relief was tempered somewhat by seeing Zulf seated so close to the Kid’s bedside. With his hands clasped and his shoulders bowed slightly, he almost looked as if he was interrupted mid-prayer— for what little good prayer might do. From what Rucks could see, invoking the gods had brought nothing but trouble to the man. Zulf’s bruises might have been fading, but no amount of healing so far had masked that dead look in his eyes. 

As much as Rucks hated to admit it, Zulf was probably the one who turned the tide. It had been looking pretty grim with the Kid still out for the count, but the man never gave up. Whenever he wasn’t sleeping fitfully, he was by Kid’s side with a dedication that would put some Menders to shame. Whatever else he might say about Zulf, the former ambassador stuck to his word. Rucks had given his own word to Zia that he’d give Zulf a chance, but he’d be lying if he said that watching him take slow, hesitant steps out on the Monument green didn’t set his hands to itching. 

Some things just took time, and he supposed he’d have plenty while they were looking for the edge of the Calamity.

“Zulf.” The word was short and level, delivered with a sidelong glance, but it was a greeting nonetheless.

At the sight of Rucks, Zulf’s shoulders drew back. “Good evening,” he replied crisply, his expression settled into a carefully neutral mask.

Rucks nodded and shuffled past. “Hey, Kid.” he grinned, stepping forward. “Good to see you.”

The Kid shifted a little, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You sure know how to make a man worry.” Rucks eased himself onto the side of the cot, folding his hands over the top of his cane. He peered at the Kid with mock severity. “We pulled nineteen arrows out of you. Were you thinkin’ of starting a collection?”

Kid’s response was too quiet to be a snort, but his dark eyes blinked in amusement.

“Ah, just teasing,” he chuckled. The boy’s hair was matted with sweat, so he settled for placing a hand over the Kid’s. “I’m proud of you, Kid. You went all the way to the Terminals for that Shard.”

“And Zulf,” Zia chimed in.

Rucks felt a twinge of irritation at the mention of Zulf. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man stiffen. This was supposed to be a happy moment; he didn’t want to think about what _else_ Kid brought back from the Terminals. But for the sake of the Kid, he’d play nice. “That’s right. You never gave up. Not on us, and not on yourself.” 

“I knew he’d be ok.” Zia beamed at Rucks from the foot of the cot, Squirt curled up in her lap. 

“Yeah.” Rucks squeezed the Kid’s hand gently. “We never gave up on you either. It’s good to have you back.”

The Kid squeezed back, and though his eyes were heavy lidded, his grip was firm.

“Besides, we’re gonna need you,” Rucks continued. “It’s about time we were headed on to new horizons, and we ain’t doing it without you. So I hope you’re ready to do some adventurin’, ‘cause we’re getting started as soon as you’re back on your feet again.”

It was worth it, to see Kid smile and Zia beam brighter than the Star of Caelondia. Their optimism was infectious, and gave him a little bit of much needed resolve to keep going. Neither of them had anything good to return to in the past, so he couldn’t blame them for not wanting to go back. He couldn’t get a read on Zulf one way or the other. But if Kid cared enough to drag Zulf’s sorry ass back, he’d probably follow the Kid’s lead. Either way he’d better be on his best behavior now. 

It had been years since he’d gone beyond the Rippling Walls, and never under good circumstances. The City had always been enough for him after that. It set every bone in his body to achin’, thinking about leaving again. But now... the Walls were gone. Maybe there was something out there in the world worth seeing. Kid seemed to think that there was, and if he stuck around long enough, he might get to see it. 

Rucks watched the Kid’s eyes struggle to keep open, his energy spent. He gently extricated his hand from Kid’s, and got to his feet. “You just rest up, and we’ll take care of the rest,” said fondly, patting the Kid’s leg.

“It’ll be alright.”

And for a moment, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Footnotes:**
> 
> [1] They would end up climbing them anyways, but at least an attempt at common sense would have been made. 
> 
> [2] As mentioned before, the flora and fauna of the Bastion universe is somewhat different from ours. The best way to describe a coonowl is a cross between a raccoon and an owl. Check out the cool art Taylorbeta did of one! (https://www.deviantart.com/taylorbeth/art/Coonowl-813974459) 
> 
> [3] Not something that you'd normally associate with an engineer/scientist, but I've seen both sides of the garment and that's what it looks like. XD 
> 
> **Author Notes:**
> 
> As fun as drama is, we're finally starting to get into the REAL problem of the story. :D 
> 
> \- Occasionally I get snatches of phrases that just seem so… _Rucks-like_, that I stick them in my notebook until such time as I can find a good place to put them. Last chapter’s teaser trailer sat in my notes for a solid two months before it found its forever home. 
> 
> \- City Blocks: The number differs depending on what city you're in. New York's average block size is about 750ft, whereas the closest thing I could find to an average in the city I work for was 250ft. It’s something that would take less than ten minutes to cross, in any case. 
> 
> \- “This old girl will make it through”: this one comes with a funny story. My boyfriend (if any of my TF2 readers are still here, this is the one that advised me on how to blow up a gas station) and I were driving in the mountains in his old sketchy car we called the Skateboard. As he said this he patted the dash, and all at once the lights went out! He had to smack it a few more times to get the display to light up again. 
> 
> \- Sam Brown belt: A leather belt with a supporting strap that passes over the right shoulder. It was originally invented to be able to draw a sword one handed (in the event that your other arm is missing), and has since become commonplace in military and police uniforms. 
> 
> \- Zinn stabilizers: Head nod to Jean Zinn-Justin, author of a book on advanced quantum theory. This is also a very subtle head nod to the Ura that worked for the Mancers. 
> 
> \- Salix Part II: I've decided that salix is super spicy in their world, and used like hot pepper to break fevers. 
> 
> \- “Nineteen arrows”: I couldn't get a definite answer out of google on "how many arrows can someone be struck by before they die", but I learned a lot about what kinds of arrow strikes are survivable. https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/2tqu7w/movies_show_men_getting_hit_with_an_arrow_and/ 
> 
> \- A note on Cores: while the game lore provided a good foundation for Cores and Shards, many of the complex theories we explore from here on out are my own. I did a lot of research, but a lot of this came from months of sheer conjecture. (I was really bored in some staff meetings last year, ok?) The physics behind what’s actually going on is pretty complicated, but for now just think of them as magic batteries. 
> 
> **Song Recommendations:**
> 
> Section 1  
\- "Facade of the Soul" - Amber's Theme by Nevan Dove 
> 
> Section 2:  
\- “Schism” by Tool 
> 
> **Next Chapter:**  
_“They let us go.”_  
_His voice was husky, with a faint Caelondian twang._


	6. No More Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nine pages, so the notes took me longer than expected. Enjoy!

Danger lurked in the garden.

The grass by the low fence rustled. The very tip of a horn poked through the dirt, a golden ivory spike, wrapped with a flash of red that glinted in the weak sunlight like bloody wire. It was visible in the same way that icebergs are, and just as dangerous.

A peal of laughter rang out across the green. The horn twisted from side to side, pinpointing the sound. Then it sank underground, leaving a small anthill of soil behind. 

The only sign of its passage was the faint rise and fall of the turf, as if the earth itself was alive and breathing. Its prey was moving, sending out vibrations deep underground like an insect caught in a web. Like a deadly game of marco polo, it closed in on its unsuspecting victim.

The horn rose slowly out of the ground like an ancient leviathan. Its target giggled at something her companion said, her rake rustling among the fallen leaves. The girl had her back turned. The perfect victim.

A long hooked yellow beak emerged from the grass. Diamond plated scales glittered along its neck. A blood red eye emerged, outer eyelid blinking in the light. The gaping maw opened, revealing rows of serrated teeth.

Closer and closer…

_Whap!_

The rake bounced harmlessly against the bright blue scales

“Rosie! Stop that!”

The anklegator fell away mid-lunge, shocked. Rosie blinked, and the beginnings of her attack transformed into a passable imitation of a yawn. 

The Kid snickered. He was good at spotting the anklegator’s approach, and hadn’t moved an inch from his seat.

Zia put her hands on her hips in mock severity. “I mean it. Don’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.”

Rosie blinked innocently at Zia and wiggled in her hole like a playful puppy. The baby anklegator would have been a lot more threatening if she were anywhere near as big as her mother had been, but for now she was only a couple of feet long.

“Thank you.” Zia giggled, unable to hold her scowl any longer. She crouched down and rubbed Rosie on her nose. The anklegator mewled and pressed into her hand. “We’re not ready to till the garden again. Why don’t you go play with Pyth?” [1] she said, speaking of the mechanized bull that Kid had liberated from a shrine to Caelondia’s patron god. “Squirt’s helping Zulf right now.”

Rosie rumbled like a small motor and sank slowly back beneath the grass. All that was visible was the tip of her horn, sticking an inch above the dusty furrow her repeated trips made in the grass. She trailed off towards the Bastion’s rim, where the bull kept an eastward vigil. 

Zia used her bare foot to stamp down the pile of dirt left behind. “I hope we find someplace with a little more ground soon. Someday the Bastion will be too small for her.”

Kid gave her a nod and a smile, and she knew it was as good as done that he would find a place for Rosie to play, no matter how big she got.

The garden was a mess. The last storm had brought high gales and vicious crosswinds, and Zia couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed as they tried to clean up the mess. Rucks said that they had to make the best of things, but it was still disheartening. She picked up her rake again and started to gather up fallen loca beans to be gleaned.

Kid was shelling barilla pods, two baskets and a walking stick by his feet. One day Rucks had remarked that some of the islands were either getting farther away or smaller, and with the way things were going, they couldn’t even afford to throw empty shells over the side.

While a lot of his injuries were healing nicely- yesterday most of the bandages were finally removed- some of them were only just starting to be seen. He’d landed harder than usual when he returned to the Bastion. [2] They had splinted his leg as best as they could, but some things just took time to heal. The walking stick was the sole concession he made to his injuries, and only taken up after some serious convincing by Rucks. He seemed to be taking it all in stride, [3] thank the gods. Despite his progress, Zia wondered if there were other, more subtle injuries he was hiding from them.

Zia could see the determination building in him like a thunderhead, and at this rate it wouldn’t be long before he tried working in the Forge again. Once he had seen the state of his armor- little better than scrap metal now- it had taken the combined efforts of all three of them to convince him that he should get some strength back before he tried to fix it. His response had been to stare pointedly towards the east- towards the Tazal Terminals- before walking off to the Armory to sharpen his war machete. [4]

Today however, Zia had scolded him into sitting down. Three busted sets of stitches had yet to teach him the merits of patience. 

They worked together in a comfortable silence. Kid didn’t mind. He never said two words where one would do, and since she’d known him he had never spoken more than a handful of words at a time. Rucks once echoed her father’s words when he told her that Kid’s actions spoke louder than words, and never was a truer thing said of the young Mason. Before the Calamity, Kid had spent seven long, hard years working on the far reaches of the Rippling Walls, where his only friend was a Cael Hammer. He understood the feeling of not wanting to talk sometimes. 

Normally, Zia would have filled the silence with music. There was always a song playing on the gramophone, and she could hum along to the faint strains filtering in from the Monument. Sometimes she sang old songs, or showed Kid something new she was working on. He always made the best listener. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk, not quite. But talking to Rosie reminded her of something else she needed to tell Kid, something more important than music. And when it came to Zulf, she wanted to get the words right. Until she could, the gentle whisper of the rake in her hands was enough.

After a while, the smell of baking bread wafted across the Bastion. It mixed with the sharp tang of _petrichor,_ the acrid bite of machine oil, and the earthy tones of cut vegetation and damp soil. Zia breathed deeply, a smile blooming. 

Zia scooped up a pile of fallen loca beans and deposited them next to Kid. “I hope Zulf is making some more of the _anpan_ he made a couple of days ago.”

Kid nodded in agreement. His hands shucked barilla pods with the same sharp, practiced movement he used in reloading his Trigger’s carbine. [5] Dark lines of careful stitching stood out against his tanned arms.

Zia took a deep breath. “You know, I’m glad that Squirt’s following Zulf around. And not just for snacks! At this rate he’ll be the biggest Windbag in the world.”

Kid snickered, and she joined in.

“And he’s keeping Zulf company.” Zia’s smile faded, and she took the plunge. “I just wish that he wouldn’t disappear so much.”

Kid gave her a half-hearted shrug, and the bright red neckerchief rose and fell with the movement. Zia thought he looked a lot thinner without the chest plate, pauldron, and bracer he wore when he left the Bastion. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and pants, his small, wiry frame was a far cry from the White Death of the Terminals. 

“Zulf scared me the first time he did it. I searched the whole Bastion for him. He was in the Shrine the whole time, but we still don’t have a guard rail up at the edge and…” Zia rehung some loca bean plants back on their trellis to avoid Kid’s eyes. “At least Squirt is keeping an eye on him now. Especially now that he’s asked to help cook.”

Kid looked skyward, hand over his heart in a pantomime of relief.

“Don’t you even start!” The tension broke, and she laughed. “It wasn’t my fault that the sorrel was too sour last time. Besides, I’m helping him make dinner tonight. He’s going to show me how to make bubble and squeak,” she said proudly.

He hung his head in mock resignation, but flashed a grin as quick as a wink

“Well, _I_ think it’s a step in the right direction.” Zia said firmly. “He’s just been so… quiet since you brought him back. I don’t think I’ve seen him happy this whole time. What do you think?”

Kid shook his head, frowning slightly.

“He’s always been there when I need help. And I want to help him too!” she said earnestly. “I’ve been trying to cheer him up. But it doesn’t feel like he’s really there sometimes. Do you know what I mean?”

Kid gave a slow, thoughtful nod. He dropped his handful of beans and shells into their respective baskets, but didn’t reach for more. 

“It’s like he left a part of himself back in the Terminals. He told me a little bit about what it was like.” Zia frowned, twisting the rake handle in her hands. “The whole place is falling apart. When I was in Zultan’s Hollow, bits and pieces were crumbling off all the time. Now that most of the Conductors are gone, who knows if it’s even still there anymore?”

Kid flinched. In some parts of the Terminals, the Conductors had been linked to the Bullhead Gates barring his way. They both knew how many of them he had to smash in order to keep going.

“And they can use the Zhivaldi Boards to fly people in from the outer islands, but that only works so long as there’s somewhere to go. They can’t hover forever.” Zia finally looked over and saw how sick Kid looked. “Oh. Um. I-I’m sorry. Hey,” she gave him a sad smile, “it’s not your fault. Like Rucks said, we really needed the Shard. You can’t take all the blame. If they had listened to me, maybe we could have worked together.” [6]

Kid shook his head emphatically, eyes steely and cast towards the ground.

“Why not? The Bastion has plenty of space.” Zia asked, completely misunderstanding what he meant. “Rucks probably wouldn’t be too happy, but I’m tired of grudges. The world _ended_ because of one! And people do terrible things when they’re hurt and angry and scared, but all those families out there…” 

Zia took a deep breath, and looked back at him. She remembered the families that helped her, and the creeping desperation that came with living on the edge. “They don’t deserve what’s happening to them. If Zulf can get a chance to fix things, I think they should too.”

Kid’s eyes had turned towards the horizon. Despite the lingering scars of the past, he didn’t seem to be angry at her advocating for her estranged people. She had grown accustomed to reading his body language in place of words, but it seemed like he had something on his mind. She turned back to the garden with her rake, ready to wait.

Her patience was rewarded after a few strokes.

“They let us go.” 

His voice was husky, with a faint Caelondian twang. 

“At the Skyway. Had to have been at least fifty of them, waiting there. And past them, the way out.”

Zia’s eyes widened, but she remained silent. He never spoke if someone else had something to say. She wanted to hear this. 

“They left Zulf to die.” Kid paused, and let out a sigh. “I couldn’t.”

Zia stopped sweeping and turned to him. Kid met her eyes, stone faced. And at that, she felt something relax inside of her. She had hoped against all hope that he had chosen to rescue Zulf because he respected the man, or because it was the right thing to do. 

This went even further. To Kid, it hadn’t even been a choice.

“Carrying him meant I couldn’t fight. Couldn’t even raise my shield.” He cupped his hands, and leaned forward to rest his forearms against his kneecaps. “Didn’t matter much anyways. I was tired of fighting.”

His shoulders bowed, as if he was carrying the weight of his sins across his back. “Didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t go back. So I started walking.” Kid looked up at the Bastion’s Skyway, pensive. “Hurt like Hell when they started shooting. Cover didn’t last long either. But I had to keep going.”

Zia tried to imagine what it was like. Cold snow underfoot, and icy lungfuls of air. Arrows whistling in from every direction, and the grinding agony of each one that connected. A weight on his shoulder that became heavier with each step, but all the more important that he bear it. Eyes only on the end… a whole world narrowed down to the last Skyway of the Terminals. And ahead on the open plain, a whole firing squad of Ura waiting for him.

Zia shivered. She knew that she could never be that brave. 

“I think they forgot about Zulf,” he said. “But… ‘bout halfway, they saw what I was doing.” 

Kid propped his chin up on one hand and looked at the ground. “They stopped shooting. All of them. Just stood and watched.” The corner of his mouth curled into a grimace. “Except for one. He wouldn’t stop. Got struck down by his own captain for that”

Then, he raised his head to look at her, and gave a small shrug. “Could’a killed us both. But they let us go. Maybe they were tired of fighting too.”

He fell silent. Zia leaned her rake against the trellis, not trusting herself enough not to drop it. 

Before the Calamity, she had known little of her own culture. The refugees of the last war- barred from leaving the city and held in constant suspicion by the Caelondians- had gone about their ways as quietly as possible, almost ashamed of their heritage. Her father had sheltered her, and it was only now, looking back through the twin lenses of regret and hindsight that she could see how hard he tried to keep her safe. People who acted too Uran were often last seen being led away by City Marshalls. 

And yet, she could never have imagined herself as not being Uran. In the clothes she wore, the songs she sang, the awful names she was called… no one in the city ever let her forget what she was. 

Zulf had been the first person she met that was openly Uran, _proudly_ Uran. He spoke of their people with pride. He told her stories, taught her songs, and gave sermons on their gods. Through his tales and descriptions, he brought the Tazal Terminals to life.

In some of her favorite stories, Zulf spoke of honor and duty. There were stories about great warriors, and the Way that they followed. That code of conduct and its tenets were woven into the fabric of Uran society. It was starting to steal over Zia that therein may lie the answer to the Ura’s sudden mercy.

Kid’s desperate act to save Zulf would have shocked them. It took loyalty, courage, and compassion, all core principles of the Code. And perhaps in their eyes, he was showing respect to an enemy. It didn’t matter that Kid had never given up on Zulf; to the Ura, he was an enemy. A worthy enemy, who after fighting his way through an entire army no longer wanted to fight. He had earned their respect.

Perhaps, in the end, respect was enough. 

Zia hugged her arms, unsettled.

They had set aside revenge, and let him go. Now, what was left? A slow decay, trapped in what was left of the Terminals. All alone…

Not if she could help it. No one deserved to die like that.

“Have you told Zulf? Or Rucks?” Zia asked quietly.

Kid shook his head, and started to pick at his fingernails. Gone was the sense of restless movement, the barely contained energy that constantly drove him. It was unnerving to see him look so pensive, so tired beyond his years.

“I think that we should,” she said, sinking down next to him on the piece of masonry.

Kid’s shoulders tensed, and he grimaced. It wouldn’t be easy to talk about, but they all knew the cost of secrets. If Rucks had trusted Zulf enough to tell him everything- to tell them all everything- none of this would have happened. Zulf wouldn’t have learned the truth of the Calamity from her father’s journal, and everyone would have been much happier. Kid’s reluctance hardened her resolve.

“If you don’t tell them, I will.” Kid;s eyes widened in alarm, and Zia crossed her arms. “I’m don’t care if they don’t like it!” And then her words were flying fast and furious as a flock of startled birds. “They need to know! What really happened, not what they think happened! And if we ever see the Ura again, Zulf and Rucks should know the truth. They deserve better than that. No more secrets.”

Zia held her breath, and bit the inside of her lip. Kid watched her, silent. He held her gaze a long time, his eyes serious as he considered her flushed expression. She fought the urge to fidget. 

After what felt like an eternity, he looked away. Then, he nodded. 

“Ok.”

A relieved smile unfolded like moonbloom petals. “It’s alright,” Zia said, giving one of his hands an affectionate squeeze. “we can do it together.” 

Zia got up and dusted off her _hakama_, energized. Kid would probably want to tell Rucks first, especially since the old Mancer had guided him through the twisted remains of the city and wilds. He trusted Rucks with his life. They also knew where Zulf was right now, so it was probably a good time. 

But… half the garden still needed to be swept, and she needed to tie up the fandrakes again. And if they didn’t gather up all the fallen produce, it would be lost to the wind. Zia sighed as she picked up the rake again. Telling the others would have to wait a little while.

“Zia.”

Zia started. It wasn’t often that Kid initiated a conversation. “Yes?”

Kid held her gaze, his expression open and serious. “It wasn’t your fault.” His voice was quiet, but the words were spoken clearly, slowly, as if he wanted to make certain that she understood him. “They wouldn’t have listened to anyone.”

_Oh._ Her stomach gave a little twist. She thought back to the previous conversation and what caused his confession. 

Kid didn’t tell her much of what he did when he left the Bastion, but she knew from Rucks that he wasn’t proud of all of it. His passage through the Terminal had left hidden scars, ones that showed through in a thousand little ways. She saw it in the way he flinched at unfamiliar sounds and sudden movements, in the weapons- today’s choice was a pair of Slinger’s duelling pistols- that never seemed to leave his side, and in the things he said in his sleep. [7]

From all of this, it seemed inevitable that he would hate the Ura. But… listening to him speak gave her a feeling of hope. He wasn’t upset at her suggestion that they work with the Ura, only at her trying to take some of the blame, as if it was somehow his alone. 

“Then it’s not yours either.” Zia said, waving a hand out towards the blue sky. “All of this… it’s too big for one person.” 

Kid looked sidelong at the ground, shoulders hunched and arms crossed.

“Maybe they didn’t want to listen to me,” she persevered, “but I think that they listened to you.” 

That caught his attention. Kid cocked an eyebrow at her.

“My father always said that actions speak louder than words.” Zia tilted her palm to indicate him. “You only fought them because we needed that Shard back. And as soon as you didn’t have a reason to fight, you didn’t. You only went as far as they pushed you.” 

Zia looked down at the ground, and fiddled with the rake handle. “When you stopped to help Zulf, you offered them a way to stop fighting. And they took it.”

It was now or never. Zia gathered her courage. “There are… other ways to fix things, besides turning back.” She leaned on the rake handle and looked out at the horizon- east, west, south, it didn’t matter to her. “Somewhere out there is a new home, waiting for us to find it. I don’t mind if it takes a long time, but once we do find it, I want to come back here. Maybe by then we can offer the Ura something else.”

Zia risked a glance at Kid. He was staring at her with that look she got from Rucks sometimes; a little tired, a little amused, and maybe a little baffled at her optimism. But somewhere behind those eyes, she could see wheels turning.

Kid shrugged and gave her a small smile. “Maybe,” was all he had to say, but that was more than she had dared to hope for. 

Her heart was light as she returned the smile. “Ok.” 

Zia could work with a maybe.

\------------------------------------

Caught between a rock and a hard place, any distraction will do. Zulf didn’t consider his situation to be that bleak- at least, not today- but it felt good to keep his hands busy.

He tipped the dough out onto the counter and sprinkled flour over the mound slowly, almost reverently. Then he traced the sign of Roathus into the dough as an entreaty to the God of Thirst and Plenty for success, and started to knead it. [8]

The kitchen was quiet, and softly lit by the bright sunlight streaming in from the top of the stairs. There was a faint humming from the floor that set his teeth on edge, but it was an irritation he had come to accept as part of being on the Bastion. Faint laughter trickled in from outside, and somewhere behind him he could hear the muffled squeaks of Squirt rooting around in one of the vegetable sacks. 

A man could only take so much of Zia’s creative cooking before he had to take matters into his own hands. Everyone, even Zia, seemed to be happy with the arrangement. Besides, he liked it down here. It gave him an excuse to be alone. 

He heard a warble by his elbow, and looked down. Squirt chirped an inquiry, a small orange katachoke held between his flippers. 

Zulf snorted. “Thank you. I hope that you can find enough for everybody” he said, patting Squirt’s head. 

Squirt squeaked and shook off the fine layer of flour Zulf’s hand left behind. He gave Zulf a passable imitation of a salute, and flitted off to the vegetable sacks again. 

Well, mostly alone. 

Most importantly, it was useful. He was trying to be, at least. He knew that Zia was watching him carefully, like a portable safety net hovering just underneath a tightrope walker. She was ever hopeful that he could somehow return to normal- as if he could even remember what that was anymore. Grief was like the tide; it may ebb and flow, but the dark waters never truly went away. Still, he appreciated her efforts to cheer him up, even if her boundless optimism could be exhausting at times.

Unfortunately, most of his problems were ones that she couldn’t fix. Zia tried to see the best in others, even when they didn’t deserve it. He certainly didn’t, and neither did Rucks.

He still felt lied to, even now. And given the old Mancer’s admitted participation in the Caelondian effort to end all wars with the Ura- whether he was involved in the Weapon or not didn’t really matter, now that the dust had settled- Zulf doubted that he would be able to completely trust anything Rucks said or did ever again.

It irked him how easily Rucks could change the nature of events to suit his perception of things. He had yet to hear something come out of the man’s mouth that didn’t sound like it had been pulled straight from a Caelondian propaganda poster. That didn’t stop with Caelondia either; he could justify _anything_ in the name of the Bastion. 

And what he said mattered. Zulf was a man of his word, and the easy way that Rucks could use words to influence Zia and Kid made him uneasy. Or at least… he leaned his forearms against the counter, head bowed. He had _tried_ to be a man of his word. 

Zulf closed his eyes and sighed between his teeth. It was all well and good for Zia to encourage him to redeem himself, but he doubted she knew what that truly meant to the Ura. He was cast out, as good as _dead_. Until he had regained the trust of his people, he could never reclaim his honor. 

He had no doubt that Rucks still considered himself honorable. A Caelondian’s perception of his own guilt mattered more than anything the community at large might believe, and any shame could be easily deflected in the Bullhead Court. If the accused could survive the Trial, he could walk away a free man, honor intact. Sometimes, he envied the Caelondian perception of honor.

Zulf flipped the dough roughly. His movements were sharp and brisk. Dough didn’t get upset at him or worry about him, and sometimes the bread came out better if he was a little frustrated.

And yet... the man helped save his life. Acobi knew the old man didn’t deserve it, but in a small way he owed him for that. 

They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since he returned, and he was grateful for that. On some level he still hated Rucks, but if they really were going to use the Bastion to leave the city like Zia promised, then the whole group’s survival depended on Rucks’s ability as a Mancer to repair and use the machinery he once tried to destroy. 

He took a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to Garmuth, God of Purpose and Folly. The Crippled Duke would appreciate the irony. [9]

But while Rucks may be in control of the Bastion, they all knew who was really running the show. He never ordered anyone around. In fact, he hardly said a word. Nevertheless, the fact remained that not even Rucks would make a serious decision without a nod or a shake from Kid. 

And with good reason. Once Kid had set his mind on something, absolutely nothing in this world could stop him from making it a reality. Zulf didn’t realize it, but in a way he thought about Kid with the same awe and respect more normally seen in lucky survivors of massive storms. They kept an eye on the horizon, and carefully watched the way the wind was blowing for much the same reason; Zulf had been on the receiving end of Kid’s sheer homicidal determination once, and the last thing he wanted was to be in his way ever again.

For his own part Kid seemed happy to have him around. He hadn’t said much on the subject, and wasn’t likely to without a good reason. Kid wasn’t one for dwelling on things, and in his eyes the matter had been resolved. Zulf was back, and they finally had enough Shards to leave the city. It was as simple as that. 

So where did that leave him? Pitied at best, mistrusted at worst, perhaps. There was nowhere left to go, and no one else who would take him. For all intents and purposes, he was stuck here. 

He respected Kid for a number of reasons, and owed him… well, everything. So for now, he would follow Kid’s lead. There had to be a reason why it all turned out this way, and he still held onto the hope that the gods would tell him why. They continued to be silent so far, but he was determined.

He could be patient. 

Zulf had just finished placing the dough in a warm spot to rise when he heard a sharp whistle outside. Squirt chirruped from deep inside a sack, and Zulf turned around just in time to see him fountain from the depths, scattering pomes everywhere in an effort to answer Kid’s call. There was a burst of clear, delighted laughter, and a series of excited squeaks. Zulf shook his head at Kid’s antics, and bent down to retrieve the fallen fruit. 

“Zulf? Are you in there?” The second voice was singsong.

Zulf wiped his hands off on a towel. “Yes, Zia? Do you need something?”

He could almost hear her pout. “Yeah! I need you to come outside! It’s nice out, come landspotting with us.” 

“Alright.” Zulf sighed, smiling faintly. “For a little while.”

If he was stuck here, he might as well make the best of it.

* * *

**Footnotes:**

[1] Pyth: The Wakeful Bull, god of Commotion and Order. A bull who is both patient and temperamental. His likeness adorns the walls of Caelondia, a testament to their love of order.

_"When the Wakeful Bull is calm, let's all do our part to keep him that way."_

[2] His typical method of descent from a Skyway could best be described as a "faceplant". Despite Zia's best efforts, he had a knack for landing in the exact spot she hadn't placed a cushion. By now, Rucks could tell when Kid had returned by listening for the thud.

[3] Metaphorically, at least.

[4] _"The Ura once nearly sacked the City with these savage blades, which gave the City's missionaries a healthy respect for them."_

[5] _"The standard-issue bolt-action rifle of the Caelondian armed forces, also known as the weapon that conquered the continent."_

[6] “Z-ih-vahl-dee”: Like a cross between flying carpets and barges. Kid was awful at flying them. As a side note, I was shocked to find that Google thinks it's a word. Inspiration for the name came from Vivaldi Boards, which is a type of moisture wicking board used by beekeepers during the winter to keep their hives dry.

[7] "You have to think fast to survive the Wilds, and none thought faster than the Slingers. They could shoot their pistols with the speed of a machine."

[8] Roathus: The Gorging Host, god of Thirst and Plenty. A god who grows ever larger as he eats, but whose hunger is never satisfied. His eyes overflow with tears of pain.

_'The Gorging Host reminds us to always know when we've had enough.'_

[9] A crippled god without senses, who still gives counsel to those in need, and serves as a reminder of the consequences of folly.

_"The Crippled Duke reminds us that good intentions are nothing on their own."_

* * *

**Songs:**

Section 1:  
\- Make It Rain by The Haunted Windchimes  
\- We Carry On by The Phantoms feat. Amy Stroup  
\- Vor í Vaglaskógi by Kaleo

Section 2:  
\- Wolves (Acoustic version) by Aviators  
\- Black Sheep by Poor Man’s Poison  
\- Brother's Keeper (Closing Theme) by Jay Ungar & Molly Madison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author Notes:**
> 
> **Kid speaks!**  
There’s a number of reasons behind the decision. I wanted him to be able to speak for a number of reasons, but mostly because he has his own story to tell. We know that he can speak in game from the questions that he asks the other characters, even if we never hear his voice ourselves to preserve that player insert role. So in building up his personality, building his voice, I had little to work on. It was freeing in a way that stepping into Rucks’s shoes isn’t; his voice is already well established.  
A lot of his speech patterns are based off of wafflestories’s interpretation of our favorite mute lunatic from Portal, Chell. (Insert shameless plug for Blue Sky here.) When she does speak, it’s in short, concise sentences, direct and to the point. I wanted Kid to be reserved, but not afraid to speak his mind when necessary. So I ended up coming up with a character who typically lets his actions speak for him. 
> 
> **Rosie:** Originally this was a placeholder name until I could think of something more meaningful, but it’s grown on me. This is the anklegator egg Kid retrieved from the Wilds, raised by Zia. Kid was nearly killed by her mother, so he’s really good at spotting Rosie’s approach. I found an adorable picture of her here: https://www.deviantart.com/gryphonworks/art/Anklegator-Hatchling-394975002 
> 
> **Kid’s age:** While I think that he needs to be pretty young, he also needs to be old enough to have gained experience and prowess with the various skills he shows in the game.  
He dropped out of school (I placed it at 14) to go work on the Walls and earn money for his sick mother. We know that one term is five years long. After he came home to find his mother dead and all the money he earned gone, he became the first person in history to sign up for a second term (which has its own dark implications). He was there long enough to earn the trust of the Marshalls and experience in solo scouting missions. If he was halfway into his term, he could be about 21 when the Calamity hit. He'd be about 22 now, if the events of the game took six months. 
> 
> **Petrichor:** the smell you get after rain. 
> 
> **Anpan:** This friggin section had me researching traditional Japanese bread. Anpan is like a sweet and soft bread roll filled with a red bean mixture. It’s amazing what they do to bread; they even stick curry in it. 
> 
> **Sorrel:** A wild green, often perceived as a weed. It has a lovely tart, lemony flavor, but is best picked while young and tender. The longer the plant grows, the more sour it becomes. I used to snack on it in the garden. 
> 
> **Bubble and Squeak:** Another weird dish, this time from the English. He wouldn't want to cook something incredibly Uran (Japanese), and risk ruffling feathers. I'd imagine that an everyday food like anpan would have made its way into acceptable Caelondian cuisine, much like tacos or pizza. And the Caels were expansionist in a way similar to the English. Bubble and squeak is prudently made by mixing leftover vegetables with mashed potatoes, making them into patties, and frying the hell out of them in a skillet. They can't afford to waste anything. 
> 
> **_“I couldn’t.”_** I had been agonizing over his voicelines for days. I was well past my tenth draft when this hit me with the simplicity and force of a brick to the face. And after I'd thought it, it was impossible to think of anything else so perfect. He wasn’t going to leave Zulf behind. It was as simple as that. The cool part is that a majority of players don’t either. ^-^ 
> 
> **The Uran Way:** This is a reference to Bushido, the warrior code of honor among samurai. It's typically codified into eight virtues: Righteousness, Courage, Compassion, Respect, Honesty, Honor, Duty, and Self Control. This point in the game is arguably the most powerful moment. You could make a lot of arguments as to why the Ura, after fighting you for so long and losing so many fighters, decide to let Kid go at his most vulnerable moment. I think that in the end, respect was enough. 
> 
> **Honor:** The comparison is guilt vs shame. Western countries are more centered on guilt- a perception from the inside- and if proven innocent in court you can regain your honor. In Japan, it's centered on people's perceptions of you and shame- a perception from the outside- and if people still mistrust you after you have been acquitted then you have not regained your honor. As long as the Ura think he’s a backstabbing Cael, he’s never going to see himself as a honorable man. 
> 
> **Pomes:** I've been having fun coming up with the flora of Caelondia. In our world, this is a botanical term for a type of fruit. An example of a pome style fruit would be an apple. 
> 
> **Next Chapter:**  
_Wrench in hand, Rucks was in the process of making the biggest regret of his life._


	7. The Mancer's Dilemma

Wrench in hand, Rucks was in the process of making the biggest regret of his life.

The control room was quiet, this time of night. The gentle sounds of rain could be heard against the soft background hum of the engines far below. It was a shame to have to do this, but he hadn’t been given much of a choice.

None of them had, come to think of it.

Restoration. They could turn back the whole world, restore the past. The Bastion was built for it, to be a failsafe in case of trouble…

Thunder rumbled off in the distance.

Rucks loved the city, more than anything in the world. He gave his heart to her, and she gave him everything in return. She gave him the bustle of her markets, the hush of her Citadel libraries. The scent of salt by her docks, and the laughter of children playing in her streets, it was all his. The sounds of music, of hard working men, of orderly progress on her Rippling Walls who stood tall and proud in the sunlight. In her welcoming arms there were colleagues, drinking buddies, friends… all waiting for him.

One flip of that lever, and he’d be home.

And if it wasn’t for the young man sitting cross-legged next to him, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

It was always a wrench to dismantle something he’d created. [1] Every machine had its own breath, its own personality, a life of its own. In a way, taking apart even a small part of the Bastion felt like a slap to her face. But with Kid next to him, hanging onto every word he said, it felt something more like an opportunity to teach the young Mason a thing or two. For someone who hadn’t used anything much more technical than the hammer [2] leaning against the wall before the Calamity, Kid had the knack for tinkering. Like water to a man dying of thirst, he drank it all in.

“‘Course, back then you saw a lot of people working across Disciplines. Trigger Menders, Brushers with a lil’ bit of Slinger training, Breakers who were just as deadly aiming a galleon mortar, that sort of thing. It took all types during the war. For that matter, you hardly ever saw a Mancer who wasn’t something else first. It ain’t like that nowadays.” Rucks remembered himself, and his gut clenched. He cleared his suddenly tight throat. “‘Fore the Calamity, that is.”

Rucks pushed himself back into a kneeling position and rubbed at his sore knees. “With any luck, this’ll double our power capacity. We’ll need that, when it comes time.” He reached past Kid into his toolbox. “Give me a hand getting this oscillator back in place, will ya?”

This was the best way he could think of to teach the Kid, elbows deep in grease. Someone else ought to know how to work on the Bastion, and he couldn’t think of a better person than his first mate.

The company couldn’t be finer, and before long, the hours had slipped late into the night.

“I think that’ll about do it.” Rucks said as he ratcheted the last panel into place. “Let’s get her fired up.” Tools and spare parts dropped into folding slots and drawers, and he latched his toolbox shut with a series of well-oiled clicks. If only he could oil his joints too, he mused as he slowly pushed himself to his feet.

“Have to say, of all the things I’ll miss-” he turned around at the sound of a strangled grunt. Kid was down on one knee, one hand grasping the edge of the control panel, the other clutching at his leg. Kid grasped at his splint, and tried to stand up again.

“You know Kid, it’ll go easier on you if you use the stick” Rucks said helplessly, watching him struggle. By now he knew better than to offer a hand. Kid was too prideful by half sometimes.

Kid shook his head sharply and redoubled his grip on the counter. Teeth gritted, he pulled himself upright. He leaned against the counter, his breathing quick and shaky.

It was hard for him to watch, and he knew it was even worse for the Kid. The boy had survived the worst that the city remnants could throw at him- from Windbags maddened with terror, to security turrets still firing long after their owners were gone. He’d fought his way through the beasts of the untamed Wilds, and triumphed over the last of the Ura’s spite. He could handle any weapon, master any trial. He could shrug off any injury, and bounce back from the edge of death. With the helping hand of health tonics he’d been unstoppable. But like Rucks had told Zia, there was always a price to pay.

Rucks knew the shame of seeing how far you had fallen, the humiliation of coming to terms with what you lost. It was an old friend to him. Kid still had a fighting chance at recovery- and he was getting better every day- but he’d argue that he knew the pain that Kid was feeling right now better than anyone else in the world.

Kid hated to be seen as weak or useless, and he tried to spare the young man’s pride as much as he could. But sometimes Kid needed a reminder that he didn’t have to do it alone. “Here,” Rucks said, reaching for the walking stick left leaning by the wall.

Kid stared at Rucks and the outstretched cane doubtfully. Rucks gave him a reassuring smile. “It’ll help. For a little while longer, at least.” After a long moment, Kid looked away. The young Mason accepted the stick with a sigh.

With Kid limping beside him, they slowly made their way to the central spire.

“Now… when you flip that lever up by the main control panel, this over here will… well, in a way, it’ll start singing. Remember that time Zia broke a glass with nothin’ but her voice?”

Kid smiled ruefully. It had been his idea.

Rucks ruffled Kid’s hair. “Well, it works something like that. Use the right note, and it’ll shatter all the Shards. Heh, I bet the Ura would’ve loved to know that dirty little secret.”

There was an awkward silence. Kid looked away and shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he could have said it better, but whether Kid liked it or not Rucks knew the Ura wouldn’t have hesitated to use something like that if they thought they stood a chance of succeeding at it. One moment of mercy didn’t make up for the damage they caused.

Rucks suspected that the Ura’s sudden ceasefire had less to do with compassion and more to do with survival. Kid’s path through the Terminals had made his intentions clear, and a wise leader knew when to cut his losses. It must have felt like a godsend when the youth turned his attention towards the dying ambassador instead. They knew they’d been beat. It made sense to let Kid go while he was hell bent on saving Zulf, just in case he changed his mind.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the truce had left an impression on the Kid.

Rucks cleared his throat. Not that it’d be worth anything, now,” he said gruffly, his tone a little more conciliatory. “Once we detonate these, that’ll be the last of ‘em.”

Kid looked alarmed, and he had a right to be. The last piece of Mancer tech Rucks had cooked up for him came with a stern warning- Do NOT drop that thing- and the ability to vaporize whoever or whatever was unlucky enough to be in its path. He’d made it for the Kid to take with him to the Terminals; a parting gift from the last Mancer of Caelondia, with love. Of all the weapons Kid carried nowadays, the Calamity Cannon never left its hook in the Armory. [3]

Rucks smiled and brushed at the lapel of his vest. “Oh, there’s nothin’ for us to be worried about. It’s only dangerous if you can’t contain the blast. We’ll be able to channel it into here.” He patted the thick viewport.

Inside, a massive hollow ring of leaded crystal as thick as the Kid was tall sheathed the central Monument spire. Barely visible between the thickly wrapped coils of wire and tubing, the ring was filled with tiny crystals.

“That’s the Tokamak. Between the crystal bank and those resonance coils, we can store all that energy. Amplify it, too. Even powering something the Bastion’s size, it’ll take hundreds of years to run these batteries dry.” Rucks gave the machinery a proud smile. “We’ve been able to maintain the Bastion with the Shards all in one piece, but if we want to get moving we’ll need more power. A resonance cascade can get us that.” He fiddled with his cane. He knew he was stalling, hoping that Kid would change his mind. “Then we’ll rig up a sail for most of the steering. Mother knows we’ve got plenty of crosswinds to work with.”

Kid tapped a screen and gave Rucks a questioning look.

“What’s up, Kid?” Rucks looked over to where Kid was pointing. It was a simple, graphical display, with one red line slowly creeping across the grid. A series of numbers scrolled down the left side of the monitor, and a new line of script appeared after each progression of the line. Rucks had almost forgotten about it in the last few weeks. “Oh, uh, that’s for the, uh… other choice.” He cleared his throat. “It’s called a Tempograph. It measures the timeline.”

Kid raised an eyebrow. “Well, how else could the Bastion move us back in time?” Rucks tapped a few keys. The grid zoomed in, tracking minutes and seconds. “If you had pulled that lever over there,” he waved a hand to the other side of the room, indicating the choice for Restoration, “the Tempograph would’ve read the memories inside the Cores, and told the Bastion how far to send us back.”

Rucks frowned, unable to conceal his disappointment. “There’s not much use for it now.”

Thunder grumbled outside. Kid shrugged.

Rucks stared at the line slowly tracing its way across the screen “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked softly. He looked up at Kid, searching for any signs of doubt. “This is it. No turning back.”

Kid returned his gaze steadily. Then, he placed a hand over the display, covering it. He gave Rucks a small smile, and nodded. “What happens, stays happened.” Kid replied with conviction.

His heart sank. Rucks sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Well, I know Zia will be happy. But it’s anyone’s guess how Zulf will take it. He’s always kept his cards close to his chest.”

Rucks gave Kid a sidelong glance. “Do you really think we can trust him?”

Kid looked up at him with a disapproving frown. He nodded curtly.

Even now he wasn’t sure what Kid saw in the former ambassador. Zia seemed to think that there was something left of a good man in Zulf, and at one time he would have agreed. Zulf kept his word in watching over Kid, but… Zia was too trusting. There was no telling what else the Uran could put his mind to.

“Your heart was in the right place, and I don’t blame you for what you did,” said Rucks, in a last ditch effort to make Kid see sense. He gestured with his hands as he talked, as if physically weighing the choices Kid had made. “But think about it this way; how do we know Zulf’s being straight with us? For all we know, he could be biding his time until he gets a chance to take a second crack at the Bastion. I don’t like the idea of just waiting for him to try something. What if someday he decides he doesn’t like what we’re doing? We can’t afford to let him break anything else.”

Kid crossed his arms and slowly shook his head.

Rucks threw a hand up in the air, frustrated. “I’m all for giving second chances, but not if it means putting us all in danger. What kind of man can just turn on his friends like that? I trusted him. We all did. I ain’t about to let my guard down just because he’s _sorry_.” The last word came out as a hiss.

And that was the root of the problem. Rucks had respected the man, even liked him. They had become fast friends, and his betrayal hurt all the more for it.

Rucks took a deep breath. “Just answer me this,” he said in a much calmer voice. “Why’d you do it? You didn’t owe him much of anything, and he’s caused more’n enough trouble. Even his own people want nothin’ to do with him. What made you bring him back?”

All that could be heard was the faint pattering of rain far above. Kid drummed his fingers on the countertop thoughtfully. His expression was mild, but there was a certain hard quality to his eyes that Rucks found difficult to meet.

“No one gets left behind.” Kid said firmly.

It didn’t feel like a challenge, not coming from Kid. He just had a quiet, firm way of getting what he wanted. And when quiet and firm didn’t work… well, the Ura got the message sooner or later.

Rucks knew a sticking point when he saw it. But that was Kid all over. Once he’d made up his mind, nothing could budge him.

“I never said I planned on leaving him somewhere,” he said dismissively. Rucks jerked his head up to the ceiling and the open sky beyond. “‘Sides, we’re running out of places to put him, even if we were going to. I’m sure you know what you’re getting us into, but I’ll be keeping these doors locked. I’m not going to risk the Bastion again.”

Kid gave him a half-hearted shrug, and that was about as good as he expected to get. Rucks dusted off his hands. “Guess that’s all there is to it.” He looked at Kid, steeling himself. “I think we’ve put it off long enough. Are you ready for this?”

The grin he received in return was brighter than the sun.

And now Kid stood before the center console, the power of the Cores at his fingertips. Rucks watched Kid’s hand close around the handle, and bowed his head. It shouldn’t have happened like this. A whole city full of people, ideas, futures… it wasn’t right for all that to die here and now.

Rucks felt a hand squeeze on his shoulder. He looked up, surprised. Kid gave him a reassuring smile, calm and confident. The sight of it gave Rucks a glimmer of optimism, a sliver of hope. Maybe Caelondia didn’t have a future, but they could, here and now.

Kid held his eyes. “No going back.”

Faced with the end, Rucks smiled.

Kid broke into a grin, satisfied. Then he rubbed his hands together, and threw the lever.

At first nothing happened but the clank of mechanisms sliding into place. Kid turned to give Rucks a quizzical look, but he held up a hand. Beneath the soles of his boots, at a frequency far too low to be heard, the floor began to vibrate.

Within a second the sound became a quiet hum, quickly rising. Kid shivered as the pitch passed through the bowel-shaking tones, climbing higher. Suddenly, in the same way that light shone through a prism becomes a rainbow of color, the note burst into hundreds. The pitches danced and wove into a tapestry of sound. The noise filled the room from wall to wall, and sang in the air like a thousand wine glasses.

For one perfect moment, it sounded beautiful.

Then the notes wobbled and climbed, the symphony shifting into discord. Rucks winced. The sound grated on his ears. Dust shook from the far ceiling. Almost there…

A shrill whine howled through the air like the mother of all security turrets powering up, higher and higher…

The blast was louder than thunder, brighter than lightning. It shook the Bastion from peak to base, stone and metal creaking in protest. Tools rattled in their trays, and Kid’s hammer fell over. Rucks flung a hand out to steady Kid as the floor lurched.

The Bastion gave one final tremor, and then went still.

Rucks coughed in the dusty air. Everything had gone quiet. But there, on the edge of hearing, a soft ringing sound could still be heard. They drew close to the viewport.

The Tokamak was alive. The crystal grains trapped inside the ring hummed with power, rising and falling in the currents of purple light which spilled from every gap in the coils. Faint purple sparks floated on the air like dust motes. The Monument had thrummed with power; the Tokamak sang like a crystal bowl. Rucks glanced at the control panel. The power levels were strong, and drawing steadily.

Then, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Well I’ll be,” he said, and clapped Kid on the shoulder. “It worked.”

Kid shared a tired smile with him. Maybe this wasn’t the way he thought everything would turn out, but it was a way. It was a way forward. Standing there, listening to the Bastion sing, he started to feel like the future just might be worth it.

As far as tonight’s work was concerned, he would have plenty of future to look forward to. From now on, there was no going back.

* * *

**Footnotes:**

[1] In a manner of speaking.

[2] _The Cael Hammer: "Heavy-duty hammers such as these constructed Caelondia's famous Rippling Walls, and protected from elements and foes alike."_

[3] _The Mancers not only theorized about the raw forces of the world, they developed blueprints for how to unleash them."_

_"A small-scale prototype of the device that caused the Calamity."_

* * *

Songs:

_“The Mancers Dilemma”_ \- game soundtrack, for obvious reasons

_“Let it End”_ by Karliene

_“When the Levee Breaks”_ by Led Zeppelin

_“Providence”_ by Poor Man’s Poison

_“Achilles Last Stand”_ by Led Zeppelin _(also known as the “wheelchair song”. I think it fits Kid’s situation pretty well.)_

"Setting Sun" by Miracle Of Sound _(As far as I'm concerned, this is a theme song for Rucks)_

Alchemy crystal singing bowls, by Lorelei _(Seriously, check this out. It really helps to hear what crystal resonance sounds like.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author Notes:**
> 
> **Disciplines:** As far as I can tell, disciplines are the various guilds within Caelondia, and form a council that used to rule the city. Here's a rough description of the ones mentioned in this chapter:  
_Masons:_ The architects and builders of the city. If it could be built, it fell to the Masons to build it.  
_Triggers:_ Caelondia's standing army and general cavalry. Primarily used carbines, and were known for sharp shooting.  
_Menders:_ Associated with the Bullhead Court. Rucks mentions that they had all the thankless jobs, which I've inferred to include such things as medical care and keeping things clean.  
_Brushers:_ The vanguard of exploration into the Wilds. Primarily used pikes, and were skilled at tracking.  
_Slingers:_ Fellow explorers of the Wilds. They strapped dual pistols, and assisted outward city expansion.  
_Breakers:_ Silent and deadly, these were Caelondia's master archers, skilled in the Breaker's Bow  
_Skippers:_ In charge of Caelondia's navy, their ranged weapon of choice was the galleon mortar. They delivered Caelondians from the mother land.  
_Mancer:_ The sharpest knives in the drawer, these were the scientists and strategists of the city. If I had to guess, they were the ones most in charge. They knew everything, and boy did it cost them. 
> 
> **“By Half”:** “to an excessive degree”. 
> 
> **“Price to Pay”:** _"But if there was a realistic sequel to the aftermath of such devastation to the hero's body, we'd see long, hard years of terrible mental and physical afflictions, a heartbreaking struggle to rehabilitate and gain some use of their arms and legs back so as not to be a cripple for the rest of their life, and the struggle of intense, chronic pain, with all of this very likely a back drop to deep depression." (AsiaExpert, reddit) _  
As a side note, I’ve dealt with a chronic knee injury since high school. Kid struggling to stand up is from firsthand experience. 
> 
> **“What happens, stays happened”:** Slightly borrowed from a book I love:  
_"Everything that happens, stays happened."_  
_"What kind of philosophy is that?"_  
_"The only one that works."_  
_-Thief of Time, Terry Pratchett_
> 
> **Height:** For reference, Kid is 5’6”, Rucks is 5’10”, Zia is 5’3”, and Zulf is 6’. 
> 
> **“Bowel-shaking tones”:** I did a lot of research on the human body's reaction to certain sound frequencies, which can actually mess up your health a lot. 
> 
> **Resonance Theory:** My theory behind burning the Cores for power is a combination of crystal oscillators, resonance, tokamaks, and a helping of sci-fi: 
> 
> Sound is a form of energy, and it's capable of shattering glass (typically leaded "crystal glass" due to its microscopic defects and tubular shape). Quartz in particular is good at vibrating; it forms components in radios, and beaches with a high enough quartz content "sing". 
> 
> We know that Cores hum, so they have capacity to resonate. The "Resonance Cascade" of shattering Shards would produce a massive amount of energy, which would be absorbed by the crystal grains. Each grain would absorb the energy, and vibrate at that frequency. 
> 
> A real life example of resonance is listening to a conch shell. That "sound of the sea" happens because a quiet background noise is vibrating at a frequency the shell can vibrate at; that in turn vibrates the air and produces sound. In that way, the sound can be amplified. 
> 
> Here's the coolest part: crystal oscillators. Crystal Oscillators use the mechanical resonance of crystals to create an electric signal of a precise frequency. Put plainly, power goes into the crystal, crystal transmutes that power into a different frequency of power, from a few kilohertz to hundreds of megahertz. There's a lot of math and electrical chemistry about how the crystals can behave like harmonic oscillator circuits (electricity was never my strong suit ), but resonance happens because of the way energy is stored. 
> 
> So with a little bit of fiction and a bit more science, and a lot of time on my hands, we can create a series of systems where power is generated, renewed, and stored for a long time. 
> 
> **Tokamak:** A real life Tokamak is a massive device that uses a magnetic field to control nuclear fusion reactions in plasma. This isn't nuclear fusion, but I liked the design enough to borrow it for science fiction. 
> 
> **Next Chapter:**  
_Rucks gave a heavy sigh. “Well, here we are. I never thought I’d outlive the city.” He cleared his throat. “Might as well get down to it.”_


	8. At The Wind's Will

The winds were restless.

Breezes curled across the sky, clouds streaming into delicate wisps. They ruffled the grass of the Bastion, kicking up dust into playful eddies. The chimes and sculptures on Zia’s tent pegs tinkled and whirled. The sound was comforting in a world gone silent. To her, it sounded like laughter. The wind rustled and whispered through her unbraided hair. It promised new lands, and new songs to be sung.

The onset of night had painted the sky a fiery crimson, and the clouds glowed with the dying light. Little sparks danced like fireflies in the darkening sky. Before the Calamity, the heavens had never looked so beautiful. 

To her left Zulf sat on a piece of masonry, watching the sunset. She hadn’t seen more than the barest ghost of a smile from him since he returned to the Bastion, but the hard look in his eyes showed signs of approaching peace. 

Today looked like one of his good days. For someone who had been inches from death a scant few weeks ago, his recovery was nothing short of miraculous. While the stitches had been removed and the broken bones had set, she suspected that it would take a long time for the most subtle of injuries to heal. They had forgiven him- she was sure that Rucks would someday- but he had yet to forgive himself.

Zulf caught her gaze, and gave her a polite nod. Zia smiled. She hoped this good day would turn into many good days to come. The gods knew he deserved it, even if he still couldn’t see it yet. 

Maybe he could feel the undercurrent of excitement in the air. After weeks of hoping and waiting, they were finally leaving the city.

But before they could leave, they had to say goodbye. 

Then, she heard the firm tread of hobnailed boots on the flagstones. Kid and Rucks emerged from the Memorial, dressed in the best clothes the survivors had been able to scavenge. Slow and measured as a funeral procession, the pair crossed the grass to where she and Zulf waited by the southern edge. 

Chin held high, Kid carried the Memorial flame. The little candle flickered in its brass holder, shielded from the wind by a careful hand. Out of all the Vigils created in memoriam to the past, she thought this one was the most meaningful. It was the final Vigil, kept burning in honor of the dead. Usually it sat in the heart of the Memorial, where its soft glow could bring the sketches of what was lost back to life. But today, it served another purpose.

No sooner had they arrived at the edge did Zulf rise, skirts swishing. With the grave expression of a man on a righteous mission, he crossed the space to stand in the center of the group. 

Zia glanced nervously at Rucks. His face was drawn in deep disapproval. He had opposed the idea of a prayer; any gods that let something like the Calamity happen weren’t worth a damn thing. But Kid had agreed with Zulf, and that was the end of it. 

Hands raised like the fire-and-brimstone class of prophet, Zulf began the blessing.

Zia’s eyes wandered to the other participants. It was good to see Kid walking without the aid of a stick, albeit stiffly. His return from the Terminals had come at a heavy cost to the young man, one that was still being repaid. She bit her lip as she remembered the pile of arrows they pulled from his too-still body, and the sleepless nights desperately fighting his fever. Zia knew how hard he pushed himself to get to this point. But… she glanced at Zulf, and smiled. The price was worth paying. 

Zia was surprised that Zulf had even wanted to do this. The former ambassador knew Rucks’s stance on the gods, and these days went out of his way to avoid antagonizing the man. Rucks had never been shy in his disdain for the gods, and viewed Zulf’s stubborn adherence to the rites and rituals with thinly veiled scorn. 

But it was the only thing Zulf had asked for, when they planned out this ceremony. She was glad that he did. No matter what Rucks said, if the gods could keep Zulf going… then they were good for something.

Zulf ended the prayer, and silently returned to his seat. Zia doubted he would say anything else for the rest of the night. The Terminals had changed him, made him distant and watchful. Most nights while everyone laughed and talked over dinner, he listened. It was rare that he joined in, and even rarer for him to seek their company. He was polite to the point of breaking, but even on his good days he seemed withdrawn. She missed the old Zulf. 

With the setting sun in his eyes, Rucks stepped forward. He looked around at the horizon. It looked a lot different now, but… maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. The view was lovely past the point of no return. Rucks glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the Bastion, gleaming in the light. Despite everything, it was still there. Finally, his gaze passed over Zia, and she gave him an encouraging smile. 

His frown softened, and then he smiled back.

Rucks gave a heavy sigh. “Well, here we are. I never thought I’d outlive the city.” He cleared his throat. “Might as well get down to it.”

Originally it had been Kid’s idea to say goodbye, but everyone agreed that Rucks should be the one to speak. He knew the city best. It felt… right for Rucks to say it, and to say it under the open sky. 

“Losing Caelondia is something we’ve all had to come to terms with, these past six months. The city’s gone, and she’s never coming back.” Rucks glanced at Kid, who gave a small nod. “There’s nothing left for us here. But before we head off to greener pastures, it’s fitting that we say a few words in her memory.” 

The old Mancer’s eyes grew misty. “I never saw a place so alive as Caelondia.” He looked out into the Void, where the city used to be. “You could really get a feel for her soul, just by watching her Rippling Walls move. Whole sections could move on a days notice, protecting the city no matter what. They were unlike anything the world had ever seen.” 

Rucks rested a hand on the mallet tucked into the shoulder loop of his belt. “It was an honor to be a part of that,” he said proudly.

“A man could go far in Caelondia, if he worked hard and kept his wits about him. Many a man did.” Rucks glanced at Kid. “It’s thanks to them that she was so beautiful.”

Zia tried to imagine the city the way he described it. Stately and proud, with tree-lined avenues and statues in every square. It wasn’t like that, when she was there. She couldn’t remember the last time that seeing the Walls didn’t give her the feeling of white hot bands around her chest, the desperation of needing something, _anything_ to change. But hearing the way he talked about the Walls, she almost missed them.

Rucks tapped the ground with his cane. In the engine room far below, the Bastion sang with the power of shattered Shards. “Caelondia was the city of a thousand inventions, home of the brightest and the best. She never slept… but she sure dreamed big. And whenever she dreamed, she had the means to make that vision a reality.” 

At that, Kid smiled. He stood a little straighter, and the carbine he wore shifted with the movement. Even now Kid never went unarmed. In deference to the ceremony however, he had the weapon strapped tightly to his back, out of the way.

“The city wouldn’t have been the same without its people. Caelondians… they were a street people.” A wistful smile bloomed on his face. “They loved music and street theaters, and the scene was never complete without someone selling trinkets to the crowd. Everyone mingled there for work, pleasure, or something in between.” Rucks chuckled. “We knew how to have a good time.”

Zia could remember the shouts of the crowd, and the bells that rang every hour. The air was filled with the cries of street traders, the laughter of children, and the shouts of parades and protests. At the time the sheer busyness of the city was overwhelming, but after the Calamity she had grown to appreciate anything that broke the silence.

“Caelondia was a free city.” Rucks continued proudly. “A man could speak his mind, and have no other consequence than others returning the favor. We were pretty open minded about new ideas. It was the kind of place where nothing was out of reach.” 

Zia felt Zulf stiffen beside her. He’d worked for years to convince Caelondia that the idea of lasting peace with the Ura was worthwhile. The bitter truth was that for all his efforts, the people in charge of Caelondia had never even considered it an option. To Zulf, the Calamity was a constant reminder of how badly he failed.

Rucks was describing the city the way it should have been, the way she wished it was. Before he read her father’s journal, Zulf used to think about Caelondia the same way. Rucks mourned the city for what he thought it was; Zulf mourned the city for what he now knew it had never been. 

But no matter how hurt and betrayed Zulf felt he wouldn’t speak ill of the dead city, even at its funeral.

He wasn’t wrong in feeling upset. But they all had to mourn in their own way. Zia reached over and laid a hand over his clenched fist. Zulf flinched, and he glanced sidelong at her uneasily. Zia squeezed his hand in sympathy and gave him a small nod, hoping he would understand. It seemed to work; he took a deep breath, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

Rucks didn’t seem to notice, his gaze firmly focused on the past. He seemed happier than he had in weeks, his free hand waving through the air as he talked. “Her people travelled far and wide, always chasing the next adventure. You could find a Caelondian anywhere, in any crowd. Her people were pioneers, and that spirit of exploration drove them to new lands.” 

Rucks looked behind him, towards the Skyway. “Where a Caelondian could go, the city would follow.”

And then… Rucks closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and the long sigh it drew from him seemed to take his spirit with it. The old Mancer stood in front of the Void, and the dying light cast his shadow all the way back to the Monument. 

“She’s gone, now.” His voice cracked. “Her people are gone too, somewhere nothin’ can follow.”

Rucks bowed his head. A sudden gust blew across the Bastion, and then even the sky fell silent. Zia fought the urge to reach out, to say something that would stop him from looking so lost. There was no smile to hide his grief, no story to mask his pain. He loved the city like a woman, and he was heartbroken in her death. 

“But…” Rucks raised his head, and looked around at everyone. There was a new look in his eyes, and it reminded her of the Kid. “They used to say… that a Caelondian always carried the city with him, in his heart.” 

His smile was grim. “So we’ll remember her, and remember where we came from. If we can hold onto that, she’ll always be with us.” 

Rucks looked out at the horizon again. His voice was gentle and kind, spoken like a lover.

“Don’t worry, Caelondia. You’ll be with us, every step of the way.” 

Rucks retreated, rubbing at his eyes. His words sparked something unfamiliar and wistful inside of Zia. She decided that the feeling was nostalgia. For years the city had felt like a prison, and she was grateful for every day that she was free of it. But whenever Kid was tracking down a new Core, Rucks entertained her with stories about the city. He helped her see Caelondia in a new way, and while it couldn’t erase her own experience, she found that she only started to appreciate the city after it was gone.

But maybe Rucks was right. It didn’t matter so much if what she remembered was good or bad… so long as she remembered what the city meant to her. Caelondia would live on, if only in their memories.

Now everyone turned to look at her, and Zia felt a thrill of excitement. It was time for the Sending Home.

Zia reached down and picked up the paper lantern by her feet. This was a Caelondian tradition, Sending the souls of the dead back to the Lorn Mother. There, in Micia’s heart, they would be born anew. She wasn’t sure how that would work with a whole city. But out of all the gods in the Pantheon, she always liked the Goddess of Loss and Longing the best. When she was a little girl, it was nice to know that someone out there was as lonely as her. Maybe if they Sent the whole city back to her, Micia would never be lonely again. 

Rucks had never wanted to do the Sending before, in all the months since the Calamity. He always said that they could worry about it after they got the Bastion up and running. It was only now that she realized Rucks had been holding out in hopes of going back. 

But in the end… Kid didn’t want to go back.

Kid came to meet her as she rose and crossed to the Bastion’s edge, his hands cupped around the Memorial flame. The light shone in his eyes, and the grin he gave her made him look years younger. He brought the flame close, and together they carefully lit the little wax bundle inside the framework. Once the lantern had billowed out to the fullest, she turned to face where the city had once stood.

The sun took a long time to set without land, but it had nearly vanished behind some far off horizon. In its absence the sky had become a tapestry of soft purples and blues, scattered with the first glittering stars. The wind tugged at Zia’s hair, and she lifted her eyes upwards. The Star of Caelondia shone like a welcoming beacon. 

The lantern trembled in the impatient breeze. It glowed softly in her hands, warm and reassuring. It would be nice to think that this little vessel could carry the dead, guiding them home. 

Zia took a deep breath, heart singing. As she exhaled, she let the lantern go.

It floated in the air for a breathless moment, gently rising. Then, the wind snatched the lantern and it soared into the sky. Its glow became a rapidly shrinking pinprick, flying out and away. Zia smiled, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The Mother could take care of Caelondia now.

Zia sat down by the edge and watched it go. Behind her, she heard the shuffles of Kid and Rucks as they started to walk back to the Memorial. Now that the ceremony was over, they were going to chart the course one more time and make sure everything was ready. She was happy to simply sit and watch the wind carry the city home. It didn’t matter to her where they were going, so long as they went together.

_“I set my sail…” _

Zia gasped quietly. She blinked and turned back to Zulf. Head bowed and eyes shut, he was singing.

_“Fly, the wind it will take me…”_

His voice was quiet and hesitant. Zia recognized it as an old funeral song, and he sung it as gently as a lullaby. Behind her, she heard Kid and Rucks stop. They hadn’t planned on a singing a farewell, but… this was the first time she had heard him sing since he first left the Bastion.

_“Back to my home, sweet home…”_ Zulf wavered, soft as a whisper.

Zia took a deep breath, delighted. _“Lie on my back,” _she sang out. Zulf jumped, and looked at her in shock.

Zia met his guilty stare with a bright, reassuring smile. _“Clouds are making way for me…”_

Then, he surprised her even more. For the first time since the Tazal Terminals, he smiled. And for a moment, he looked almost happy. 

_“I’m coming home, sweet home…”_ Their voices blended in harmony, and Zia felt a thrill of joy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rucks wrap an arm around Kid’s shoulders. The Memorial flame danced and flickered between them. Its vigil was complete; the city could rest in peace. 

_“I see your star, you left it burning for me…”_

High in the sky, the lantern climbed into the heavens. 

_“Mother, I’m here…”_

* * *

The Void was cold.

Bitter winds blew across empty skies. Where birds had once flew, not even the drifting echoes of land remained. The sun had long since descended below the Edge, and stars burned dimly against a shroud of darkness. Even the famed Star of Caelondia was dull and distant, outshone by blue and gold sparks on the wind. 

Gently, a warm glow rose in the night. The faint strains of singing had long ago faded away, but the lantern drifted onwards with hopeful integrity. It sailed regally, carried high and far on the restless winds. Its wickerwork bundle burned steadily, a sister to the flame that held vigil in the Memorial. The light burned alone, guiding the souls of the dead onwards.

A blue spark brushed against the paper. It flared briefly and vanished, and a tiny piece of paper disappeared with it. The blaze danced defiantly against the darkness. 

The flame snapped at a spark that came too close, swallowing it whole. But soon the lantern was surrounded by little motes of light.

Before long, the once pristine paper shell was a mottled patchwork of tiny pinpricks. Moth-eaten edges grew into small ragged holes, scraps of paper fluttering in the warmth. The flame burned strongly, but for all its vigilance it couldn’t keep the compromised vessel aloft. The lantern was being slowly eaten alive. 

By midnight the wicker frame was exposed in many places. Sparks whirled like planets around a dying star. The slender loops of wood were sturdier than paper, but no less susceptible to the same decay. The flame shivered, and the lantern started to descend.

Just before dawn, a key support snapped like a dry twig. 

The skeletal remains collapsed. Shreds of paper spiralled like a tangled parachute. Its flame waving like a frantic flare, the lantern plummeted. Its glow became a dot, then a pinprick. 

Then, the darkness swallowed it whole. 

And with the dying of the light, Caelondia was gone.

* * *

**Songs:**

Section 1:

“At the Wind’s Will” by Poor Mans Poison

“May It Be” by Enya

“Santiago’s Lament” by Gavin Dunne/Miracle of Sound

“Lament for Boromir” by Karliene

“Divinity Original Sin 2 Song – Ascension” by Gavin Dunne/Miracle Of Sound ft. Karliene

“Setting Sail, Coming Home” – Bastion soundtrack

Section 2:

“The Last Of Us: Left Behind - Main Theme - (Piano & String Version)” by Sam Yung

* * *

**Chapter Notes:**

**Kid’s Boots**: As far as the actual design of the boot goes, I'm leaning towards a hobnailed paratrooper style boot.

**The Last Vigil: **To those who haven't played the game, Vigils are achievements you earn by doing certain things (Defeat the required number of 15 different species of beasts, for example). There are 23 Vigils; a 24th was always speculated, but never revealed in game. On one of the screens however, you can see a small candle burning. In the wake of tragedy we hold candlelit vigils in honor of the dead, so I think it would make a fitting Vigil for a dead city.

In addition to the aforementioned reasons, I was inspired in part by Taylorbeth’s short story, Candlelight. It can be found here (<https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602944>). 

**“The view was lovely past the point of no return.” – **Another tip of the hat to an amazing author. _“You get a wonderful view from the point of no return.” - Making Money, Terry Pratchett_

**Rippling Walls**: As far as I can remember, the game never explicitly says that the walls move. But I really liked the idea of it. If whole sections could advance and fall back to be replaced like a shield wall, they could expand without dropping the City's guard. That could give it the "rippling" effect it's known for.

**The Sending**: In the making of this tradition, I wanted to tie in with the funeral song’s message of flying Home to the Mother. A couple of months later my alpha reader Classikai pointed out that it was similar to a scene in _Tangled_, but the movie didn’t inspire this scene. Maybe you'd get the massive release if someone important had died back in Caelondia. Nowadays, one lantern is enough.

**“Coming Home”: **There's a bit of backstory here. Zia's (Build that Wall) theme song is heard when you first find her in the game. It's an Uran war song, but her voice makes it something beautiful. Zulf's (Mother I'm Here) theme song is a funeral dirge. It plays during Zulf's rescue in the Terminals (or Kid's slaughter of the Ura, should you choose to leave him for dead), and it's pretty heart wrenching.

During the credits, the two songs come together as a duet of sorts. It's beautiful, and a nice bookend. I wanted to capture some of that here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it took me a few months to pull this chapter together. I wanted to everything to come together the way that I needed it to, the way that I could see it in my head. And for someone whose mind works more like a bricklayer than a dancer, it was very hard to make things come out _RIGHT_.
> 
> This story has been in the works for over a year, and there’s so much more to do. But seeing the way this has reached people, knowing that others have felt same thing I've felt, that's the connection I've always wanted. That’s what I love the most about stories. So thank you to every kudos, every comment. All that time spent grinding over sentence choice and dialogue… it was worth it. All of it. 
> 
> Again, a special thank you to my alpha Classikai, and my beta Taylorbeth. Without their help and support, this project wouldn’t have gotten off the ground.
> 
> And with that, we come to an end of _Requiem for the Survivor._ Thank you for being here. Thank you for sharing this journey with me. Your support means more than anything I could put to words. 
> 
> If you’re reading this, it means I’m working on the next in the series, _Requiem for the Sky_. I'm not a fast writer by any means, but I’ve settled in for the long haul. I've been keeping a list of topics I want to address, and it's not getting any shorter… 
> 
> Stay tuned, and thank you for reading.


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